


Black Waters, Part 2 - Post-Mortem Recovery

by NathanAlmond (NakedOwlMan)



Series: Black Waters (The SLEGWIT Cycle - Book 1) [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, American Sign Language, Assassins & Hitmen, Begging, Blow Jobs, Deaf Character, Frottage, Ghost Sex, Invisibility, Light Dom/sub, Morning After, Multi, One Night Stands, Showers, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedOwlMan/pseuds/NathanAlmond
Summary: Another tragic plunge sends shockwaves across the SLEGWIT Network. Connections are forged and secrets are brought to light. And more death looms on the horizon.
Series: Black Waters (The SLEGWIT Cycle - Book 1) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608376
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Shameless

_Every night, the same dream._

_The same woman’s face. It was unfamiliar and yet brought with it a sense of strange nostalgia. The kind of longing that hurt all the worse because you knew it could never be satisfied. Not in this world, at least._

_And she said the same thing. The same five words, over and over again. The second the dream ended, the exact words would fade from her mind. But while the dream was happening, she felt pain with every repetition. Those words, whatever they were, made her want to scream._

Her eyes slowly opened. An unfamiliar ceiling above her. The feeling of rumpled, sweat-dampened sheets draped over her naked body. And there was someone’s arm wrapped around her.

Ember blinked. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for an indication of the current time. Across the bed where Marielle lightly snored, her arm draped across Ember’s chest, Ember spotted a glowing red LED clock. It was one of those old-fashioned models: the ones that only told you the local time, without the extra displays indicating the current hour in the other major cities on the Network. Ember brought her mind back to the previous night, and tried to remember what city code Marielle had used when plugging in her SLEGWIT coordinates last night. “Valley Green,” she finally remembered, doing the time zone conversion in her head and letting out her breath. Almost an hour before she had to be to school. Plenty of time to shower, duck into the locker room at Wellspring High early to grab the emergency change of clothes she had stashed there, and be at her desk in homeroom without anyone the wiser.

Not that she had been all that worried. For as long as she could remember, Ember had never needed to use an alarm clock. She could count on one hand the number of times in her entire life that she had overslept for anything. Even if she had stayed up the previous night until the sun started to creep up over the horizon, she had the uncanny knack of waking up the next day with plenty of time to spare. And today was no exception.

She softly shifted across the bed, trying her best to extricate herself from Marielle’s grip without waking her. But stealth had never been Ember’s strong suit, and Marielle let out a soft snort as her eyes slowly opened. “Mmmmmorning,” she quietly said, a serene smile on her face as she saw Ember rise to her feet. She propped her head up on her hand, watching with an appreciative leer as her companion from the night before stretched out her nude body in the sunlight streaming into the bedroom. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Ember responded, looking around the room. “Only, you know, without the crying and wetting myself.” She squinted as she studied her surroundings. “Where the hell did my bra end up last night?”

Marielle pointed a lazy finger across the bedroom. “Hanging from the lamp over there,” she helpfully directed Ember.

“Right, right,” Ember responded, gathering up the plain cotton garment along with the rest of her rumpled clothing.

Marielle pouted her lips. “Aw, do you really have to go?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know how it is,” Ember said, having collected her outfit from the previous night to dump on the foot of the bed. “The fast-paced, breakneck life of a sales manager. I mean, I don’t go in to work today, the sales don’t get managed, and then where would we be? Anarchy, that’s where.” She ran a hand through her greasy hair, and stuck out her tongue. “Ugh, you mind if I use your shower before I go, though? As much as I’d love to share my fuck-smell with the rest of the office, HR has gotten some complaints.”

Marielle nodded her head towards one of the two doors on the wall opposite her. “Help yourself,” she said.

“My coworkers’ noses appreciate your courtesy,” Ember said, as she pushed her way into the bathroom.

Fumbling for the light switch, she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror as the flickering bare bulb flared to life. Leaning down against the sink and staring herself in the eye, she saw a slight smile creeping onto her own face, soon turning into a wide grin. “Jeez, you really hit the jackpot last night, didn’t you?” she quietly congratulated herself.

While Marielle certainly wasn’t her first hook-up, Ember wasn’t nearly as experienced in the ways of lovemaking as she had claimed to the older woman last night. When she had spotted the dour-looking woman knocking back drinks at the bar, in the tight outfit that was probably the height of fashion back when Ember was in grade school, Ember had thought to herself, “Mmm, let’s give it a shot. Shouldn’t take long to grab up some bi-curious college girl if it doesn’t work out. And I’m in the mood for something different tonight.”

And it certainly was different. Ember definitely learned a few new tricks last night from this well-aged hottie. She made a mental note to do some shopping online for a vibrator like that one Marielle had pulled out about halfway through their fuck session last night. Definitely worth the money, if her future partners ended up squealing like Ember had while that thing was doing its dirty dance between her legs.

Jumping in the shower, Ember let out a quick, surprised shriek as the cold water hit her. “Old school shower,” she thought to herself. “Not one of the new ones with the OPT-brand instant heat tech.” Jumping out of the range of the icy downfall, she felt with her foot until the water was a suitable temperature, then ran her hair under the hot spray.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, seeing Marielle now sitting up in bed and watching her as she got dressed. “You want me to make some coffee?” she offered.

Ember shook her head. “Nah, I’ll grab some at the office,” she said, quickly donning her suit from the previous night. “Appreciate it, though.” Finding her phone in her pocket and seeing a blinking light, she made a quick check, briefly worrying that some other issue with her “cover story” from last night might have cropped up.

But nope, just a text from Mom asking if Ember wanted anything from the store when she went. “Jeez, this early and already work is bugging me,” she complained to Marielle, while typing out a quick text: “a box of Frooty Flakes and some tampons, thx.”

“I know how that goes,” Marielle said. “Here, I’ll walk you out,” she got up to her feet.

Ember started to protest, but Marielle was already throwing on a robe. God, she hated it when one-night stands got clingy like this.

She stepped out into the hallway of Marielle’s cheap apartment, floorboards creaking under her feet as he navigated her way to the door. “So, hey, I had a lot of fun last night,” Ember said over her shoulder as Marielle headed through the bedroom door behind her. Ember glanced at some of the pictures hanging on the wall as she walked, having been too busy yanking off Marielle's clothes last night to notice them at the time. “Hey, that kid looks familiar,” she thought to herself as she spotted a young, brown-haired boy in a soccer uniform. “Looks kinda like that guy who just transferred in last month. What’s his name? Caleb? Macy?”

Then she spotted it. And stopped dead in her tracks.

The picture was of a group of men and women clustered together, posing in several parallel rows. Obviously some sort of graduating class, from the looks of it. Some of them smiling, others with serious expressions. And in the front row, a young and bright-faced woman whose unique, angular eyes matched the ones Ember had been staring into last night while sticking her fingers somewhere naughty.

But that wasn’t what gave Ember pause. It was the dark blue uniforms they were all wearing, and the gold-colored badges attached to all of their chests.

“Oh,” Ember thought to herself. “Fuck.”

Seeing Ember pause, Marielle let out a nostalgic sigh. “Ah, that was a long time ago. Thankfully, my days of walking the beat are long behind me.”

Ember turned, trying her best to be nonchalant despite the cold chill running through her. “You’re… a cop?” she asked.

Marielle laughed, leaning against the wall opposite the shocking photo. “You were _so_ close last night. You asked me if I was a ‘detective or something’ and I almost lost it.” She noticed the shift in Ember’s mood and cocked her head, a sly smile on her face. “What’s wrong? You done something I should know about, Miss Ember?”

“No, but maybe _you_ did last night,” Ember thought to herself. “A couple of times, actually.”

“Nah, just… you know, if you should go looking through the records and see a citation on file for public nudity, that was a totally different Ember,” she quickly covered. “And I’m sure that other Ember is very, very sorry for traumatizing all the kids in that school bus.”

Marielle shrugged slightly. “Wouldn’t be my problem anyway. I’m with the big boys now, NPA. So don’t worry too much, unless you plan to go on a Network-wide killing spree or something.”

“Right, right,” Ember responded, starting to turn away from the picture and towards the front door of Marielle’s apartment.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Marielle said, reaching a hand up to lay on Ember’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not new to this sort of thing. You’re definitely not the first person I’ve had racing out of my door first thing in the morning, you know? But… last night was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And not even just the sex part of it.” She chuckled softly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that part _was_ good. Not exactly the life-changing experience you promised back at the club, but you definitely know a thing or two about pleasing a lady.”

Ember nodded, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as she glanced over the shoulder at the means of her escape. “Thanks, you were pretty good yourself,” Ember said. One of the few honest things she had actually said since meeting this woman.

“Let me give you my number,” Marielle said. “If you never end up using it, it’s fine. I’m not going to cry in bed at night wondering why you’re not calling. But just… if you’re ever out at the club and there’s nothing but a bunch of brain-dead girls around, maybe think about giving this lady a call sometime.” She arched her brow and gave Ember a wink. “Maybe I’ll let you use my handcuffs next time… if you ask nicely.”

Ember gave her a nod and pulled out her phone, deciding it was easier to just take the number rather than make up an excuse. Truth be told, before discovering Marielle's calling in life, Ember might have even considered taking her up on her offer and hooked up with the foxy forty-year-old a second time. But there was no way Ember was playing with this particular fire. She wasn’t entirely sure if Marielle could arrest _her_ for being the minor that _she_ had fucked, but the potential for the whole situation to blow up in her face was too much for even Ember to risk.

Marielle read off her number, and Ember saved it in her contacts. She probably should delete it as soon as she walked out of the door, but what the hell. You never could tell when having the cellphone number of a police detective might come in handy.

“Alright, I should get going now,” Ember said, making a turn to the door again. “Thanks again for a great time.”

“Hey, I have to ask: who’s on the water?”

Ember stopped dead again at the sound of Marielle’s question. She could feel herself go numb, a weird sense of dread suddenly chilling her to the bone. “What?” she asked, surprised to hear a slight tremor in her voice.

“Anybody ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?” Marielle remarked casually. “Must not have been a very exciting dream, because you just kept saying the same thing. Over and over again: ‘There’s someone on the water.’”

It felt like the walls of Marielle’s apartment were shrinking, closing in around her. “It’s nothing,” Ember quickly said, feeling her chest tighten and her heart pounding in her chest. Fighting the urge to faint, she shook her head hard and snarled. “Just a stupid dream, that’s all.”

As Marielle watched in confusion, Ember dashed to the door, rapidly throwing it open and leaving the apartment without another word.


	2. Leak

When Alison woke up, the first thing she saw was Harmony. Already dressed, sitting on the side of her own tiny dorm bed, she was leaning forward slightly. Hands on her knees, waiting expectantly for Alison’s eyes to open.

“Gah,” Alison jumped slightly under her sheets, startled at the sight of someone staring at her just as she woke up.

“Sorry… the way you humans sleep is quite fascinating. Not nearly as much twitching and whispering in tongues as my race,” Harmony said, a quiet note of wonder in her voice. “Although,” she added, studying Alison’s pillow, “About the same amount of drooling, it would appear. Is human saliva prone to catching fire?”

“Fire?” Alison asked, blinking her eyes and shaking her head. “Does… your spit catch…” she started to say. Seeing the look on Harmony’s face, Alison groaned as she sat up in bed. “You’re joking again. Great, my roommate is a galaxy-travelling, form-shifting troll.”

“Okay, I’ll stop, I promise. It’s just…” Harmony cut herself off with a giddy giggle, doing a little bounce on her squeaky mattress. “Oh, this is great! Last night I was freaked out about you catching me. But now that I know you’re willing to keep my secret… you don’t know what a relief it is, having someone I’ll be able to talk to about all this for the next four years.”

Scanning around the room, Alison finally found her glasses sitting on the desk near her bed. “Mmm, so you _are_ going to be staying here long enough to get a degree?” she asked, blinking her sleep-fogged eyes through the lenses.

“Well, the standard length of an Acclimation does approximate to four of your planet’s year cycles,” Harmony said. “What are the odds, your average human college experience taking the same amount of time as my culture’s rite of passage ritual? It was a big reason why I chose to take the form of a young human female in her late teens, so that I could…” Seeing the confused look on Alison’s face, Harmony raised up her hands, shaking her head. “No, no, getting ahead of things. Sorry, I promised I’d answer your questions, but we should probably start a little bit more basic.”

Harmony gestured with her hands to Alison, bowing her head in a strangely formal gesture. “Alright, Alison Raleigh. In recognition of your help in keeping my presence on your planet a secret, I give you the floor. Ask me whatever you want. I am an open book.”

Alison considered. As bizarre as this whole experience was, she had to admit that she was feeling some of the same excitement as Harmony. She had come to college just expecting to learn about animal biology and various other topics relevant to veterinary medicine. Make a few new friends, maybe even meet the man who would end up being her future husband. Instead, within the first day of her arriving, she was going to get the chance to speak with the representative of an entire alien culture. How many other people on this planet had been given this same opportunity?

“Alright, let me think,” Alison said. “I suppose first thing is: why are you here?”

Harmony exhaled, clapping her hands together and rubbing them vigorously. “Wow, you didn’t exactly start easy, did you? Alright, context first. I come from the planet Nor, around 20 light years away from your home. We Norians are… well, you might have noticed that we have an ability to blend in with our surroundings.” She tossed her blond hair, a feature of her human form that was completely absent in the blue-skinned being Alison had seen last night. “Due to our unique gifts, our culture kinda puts a big emphasis on being able to integrate ourselves seamlessly with the people of another planet. Create a flawless disguise and never let anyone know that a Norian lives among them.”

“Well, seems like you’re not off to the best start, Harmony,” Alison observed with a wry smile.

Alison expected Harmony to respond to the joke with good humor, but was surprised to see Harmony look slightly pained. “Yeah, well, I screwed up, okay?” Harmony said, a wounded note in her tone. “Are you going to listen to me, or just rub it in that I messed up on my first day here?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Alison said, surprised at Harmony’s bitter response.

Harmony shook her head, her voice taking on a tone of defeat. “No, you’re right. This is a total disaster already. One of you finds out the first day, and knowing my luck I’ll probably end up letting the whole world know about aliens by the end of the week.” Balling up her fists, she leaned forward on the side of her bed, staring down at the floor dejectedly. “This is a mistake, still being here. I should probably just head back to Nor before this whole thing gets even worse. Go back home and get written up in our planet’s history: worst Acclimation ever…” Her voice was breaking a little now, the secret alien sounding like she was fighting back tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Alison said. Getting up, she moved across the room to sit next to Harmony on her bed. She laid a comforting hand on her roommate’s shoulder. “You just got unlucky, that’s all. Trust me, I’m not going to tell anyone your secret.” Deciding that the best option would be to keep Harmony talking, Alison attempted to steer the conversation back to less upsetting matters. “You used that word before, the ‘Acclimation.’ What is that, exactly?”

“In my case… a total catastrophe,” Harmony said, forcing a smile onto her face. “Okay, right, enough of my whining. I’m supposed to be answering your questions, not feeling sorry for myself.” Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Harmony continued. “Like I said, it’s part of our culture to able to blend in on another planet. The Acclimation is kind of a ‘coming of age’ ritual, you might call it. It’s a Norian’s first time living among another planet’s people, kind of a big deal. Most of us will prepare for more than a year to make sure we’re ready, studying and familiarizing yourself with our chosen planet’s history and customs. And then you go there, in the form of one of that planet’s dominant races, and try to spend four years living among their people. You make it those four years without being detected… you’re a full-fledged member of Norian society. You get caught… well, you go home, spend more time preparing, and you try it again.”

“Oh,” Alison said, relieved for Harmony. “So, it’s not that big a deal that I found you out, then? You can just go back to Nor and try again another time?”

An odd expression came to Harmony’s face. “Weeellll, that’s where it gets complicated,” she said. “See, we’re really only supposed to do the Acclimation on another planet in the Coalition.” Seeing Alison confused again, Harmony held up a hand. “I won’t bore you with politics, but basically my planet is part of an alliance of around fifty other planets and societies. Part of the bargain between our planets is that my people offer our services as spies to our allies, and in return they allow my people to conduct our Acclimations on their planets.”

Bending down, Harmony reached into one of her bags, retrieving a strange-looking coin. “See this?” she asked Alison, flipping the coin around in her fingers. “Every Norian is issued one of these when they start training for their Acclimation. We take it along with us, and if someone catches on that we’re a Norian and reports us to the authorities, we’re supposed to show this sigil. Basically it’s our way of verifying, ‘Alright, you caught me, but I’m not here to spy on you. I’m just here on my Acclimation.’ They contact the Norian Council and show them the sigil, the Council verifies that the poor sap is just a young Norian who goofed up, and they get sent home. No harm, no foul, give it another shot in a year or so, kid.”

Alison furrowed her brow. “Wait… so these other races in the… Coalition, they’re fine with Norians just coming in and pretending to be a member of their species all the time?”

“Yeah, why should they care?” Harmony said. “We’re not just there to be sneaky, like some game of hide and seek. We come to these other planets and become productive members of their society. Doing our part for the people that we’re hiding in the midst of. Honestly, I’m sure there’s been a bunch of times that someone’s caught on that there’s a Norian hiding among them, but haven’t said a word because that secret alien is one of the best workers in their factory. Or kitchen, or construction site, or wherever it is that we integrate ourselves.”

Alison was starting to detect a hole in Harmony’s story. “But… my planet, we’re not a member of this Coalition of yours.” She gave Harmony a questioning look. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

“Technically, my Acclimation is supposed to be happening on Tathomir,” Harmony said, a sheepish smile on her face. “But maaaaaybe I spent the last year secretly studying the language and culture of your planet instead of the Tathomirians, and maaaaaaybe I paid off the transit beam operator to change the coordinates to your planet at the last minute.” Harmony’s tone turned serious. “Again, not to get into the deep political intrigue of my home planet, but my family are… kind of a big deal back on Nor. Everybody had a lot of expectations for me and my Acclimation, so I figured… why not do something no one has done before? Complete a successful Acclimation on a non-Coalition planet.” She flashed the coin in her hand, before tossing it back into her bag. “Kind of like pulling off a circus trick with no safety net, you know? Can’t just flash my sigil and get a free trip back home.”

“So, when I found you in your true form in the bathroom last night,” Alison said, “that’s why you were so nervous about being found out.”

Harmony nodded. “It’s kind of a big no-no for Coalition planets to reveal the existence of alien life to civilizations who haven’t yet achieved a certain level of technological advancement. And while your Dr. Xing and her SLEGWIT portals are a commendable achievement, your planet isn’t quite there yet. If it got out that I had shown my true form to a non-Coalition alien… it would be very bad. The last time one of our people made contact with a non-Coalition race…” Harmony shook her head. “No, you don’t need to know the details. Just know that it was serious enough that nobody ever wants it to happen again, and there are strict laws in place to try and make sure it never does. Laws that would not only punish me, but the Norian people as well.”

“But you still risked it,” Alison responded. “No offense, Harmony, but that just seems… insane. I mean, if the laws are really that strict, then it seems like one hell of a chance to take, just to impress people back home.”

“Well, there’s something else,” Harmony said. Reaching over to her desk, she retrieved her phone. “I want to show you something, Alison,” Harmony said, bringing up a picture on her phone screen. It was taken from a high vista, somewhere in the Avon Lake area if Alison were to guess. The horizon was obscured by an array of tall trees, and the sun was setting in the distance. It was pretty, even if Alison had seen tons of pictures just like it on “inspirational” posters back at Wellspring High.

“I’m sure this is fairly mundane to you, but if you could see what Nor looks like… it’s definitely not this,” Harmony explained, her eyes focused on the picture with a kind of reverent stare. “From the first time I saw what your planet looks like, I knew that I needed to see it in person. Compared to just about every other planet in the Coalition, your world is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Yes, it was a risk coming here… but even just that first moment when I arrived in the woods outside Ethridge, and I got my first glimpse at what this planet looks like for myself… breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking.”

Alison stared at the photo on Harmony’s phone, a question on the tip of her tongue. Finally, it occurred to her. “If your people aren’t supposed to visit a non-Coalition planet,” she asked, “then how did you get this picture?”

Harmony shifted nervously, before letting out a long sigh. “Ah, what the hell,” she said. “You know the rest already, might as well let the cat entirely out of the bag. This was taken by a high-ranking Norian agent while he was here on this planet. See, just because we aren’t _supposed_ to be here… doesn’t mean we aren’t here. Truth is, our race has a secret presence on a handful of non-Coalition planets. It’s a job limited to our most talented, skilled agents, aka not the types to screw up their cover on their first day like me. It’s not exactly widely known to the Norian people, but considering who my parents are… well, I overheard a lot of things back home.”

“Wow,” Alison said. Surprisingly, the thought of secret alien agents living secretly on this planet didn’t unnerve her as much as she would have thought. Actually, it was a little exciting. “What are they doing here?”

“Just keeping an eye on things, monitoring your progress,” Harmony said. “Mostly our agents are on planets like yours, who are right on the cusp of being considered ‘qualified’ to be invited into the galactic community.” She gave Alison a grin. “Kinda gives us a head-start as far as opening up relations with your planet when the time comes… and makes sure you side with the Coalition and not any of the other powers out there.”

“Jeez, so Dr. Orenstein is right after all,” Alison mused. “There are aliens living among us.”

“Right, and I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure it’s not just us Norians, either,” Harmony continued. “Our ability to change our shape is relatively unique, but there are other planets out there with their own ways of observing your planet in secret. And not all of them are friends to Nor. If one of them finds out I was here illegally, they’d jump at the chance to deliver the evidence to the Coalition, and reduce Nor’s standing in the galaxy. So, you can see why I need you to keep this a secret.”

Alison put a hand on her forehead. “This is all so much,” she said, trying to decide what question she should ask next, while worrying that it would trigger another flurry of information. Finally, she settled on one of her biggest questions. “So… this shapeshifting you do. How exactly does it work? Could you be anyone?”

Harmony shook her head. “Creating a shape like this,” she gestured down to her body, “actually took me a good seven months of practice to achieve and perfect,” she said, arching her brow as she added, “Of course, I did put in quite a bit of extra time on this form, making sure it was as attractive as possible to your species.” She smirked. “Hey, if I’m going to spend four years down here, I might as well look sexy as hell doing it, right?”

Alison looked down at Harmony’s curvy body. “Well, it certainly wasn’t a wasted effort,” she observed.

“Seriously… that ass all the guys were checking out yesterday, that alone took me a good four weeks to get just right,” Harmony said, giving her ample backside a wiggle against the mattress. “But as far as your original question: no, I couldn’t, say, decide to look like you tomorrow and just walk out of this room wearing your face,” Harmony explained. “Imitating just a generic human form would take your average Norian a few months to prepare. Imitating a _specific_ human form, to the point where nobody would be able to tell the difference? Well, that could take more than a year to get absolutely perfect. So, yeah, this will most likely be the only face you’ll ever see me wear while I’m on your planet.”

Alison nodded in understanding. “Alright, so what…”

There was a knock at the door, the two women jerking to look. “Rise and shine, ladies!” called out the unmistakable booming voice of Chase. “Come on, sleepyheads, we’ve got a lot of frosh orientation week still to come!”

Alison looked over at Harmony. “He was still at the club when we left, right?” she asked, amazed. “How the hell is he so energized this morning?”

“Don’t look at me,” Harmony said with a shrug. “You’re the only one in this room that’s the same species as him, after all.”

Rising to her feet and looking down to make sure she was decent – her t-shirt from the previous day and some old ratty shorts she wore in bed covered her sufficiently – she opened the door. Chase was there, along with Tiana and a miserable looking Alex.

“There you are!” Chase exclaimed with a grin. “Are you two still in bed? Come on, you’re missing out on all the awesome stuff happening down on the quad!”

Alex groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. “Dude, it’s _way_ too early for you to be _this_ wired. Could you, like, take it down several notches?”

Tiana clucked her tongue. “Aw, poor baby. Guess you should have headed back early like these ladies.”

“Ah, we just need to get you out in that bright sunshine, pal,” Chase said, clapping his roommate on the back. “Get you up and moving, some food in your belly, you’ll be all set.” He turned back to Alison. “So, you heading down with us? We’ll give you a sec to get ready if you want us to wait.”

Alison glanced back at Harmony, who gave her another shrug. Alison supposed that any other questions about Harmony were going to have to wait for another time. Well, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have the next four years to grill her secret alien roommate about Nor, her mission here on this planet, and everything else. Alison remembered that Harmony had said something about “paying her back” for her silence, and Alison couldn’t help but wonder what she could possibly have been talking about.

But it could wait until later. “Sure, sure, give me a bit,” she told Chase. “Just need to get dressed and make sure I don’t stink too terribly.”

Chase leaned around to look in the room. “Hey, Harmony,” he gave her a booming greeting. “You feeling alright, girl? Was gonna check on you last night after I got done tearing up the dance floor, but I guess you and Alison already left.”

“Yes, Chase, thank you for your compassionate concern. I am feeling in a much better state of health after a night of restful slumber,” Harmony said, back to talking in her phony stilted syntax. Now that Alison knew it was all a put-on, it was all she could do not to laugh, hearing how over-the-top Harmony was going with her faked bad language skills. “Myself and Alison would love to join you and the rest of our group outside shortly.” Staring outside into the dorm hall, she cocked her head quizzically. “Ah, but where is your roommate, Tiana? Is Ashleigh not joining us for our day of frivolous entertainment?”

Tiana responded with a tittering laugh. “Guess you haven’t looked out the window yet this morning.”

Alison turned, looking down from their fourth-floor dorm room window to the campus below. “Oh, my God,” she said, as she saw Ashleigh out on one of the main walkways. “I guess that’s one of the signs she had to make,” she observed, as the enthusiastic activist waved a white sign reading in black block letters: “ETHRIDGE U = WHITE HEGEMONY!!!”

Blinking his eyes, Alex appeared to have regained a little bit of his composure. “Jeez, the term hasn’t even started yet, and she’s already out there making a scene,” he said.

“Ah, I’ll have a talk with her when we get down there,” Chase said, unconcerned. “I’m sure she’ll put away the sign for a little while and hang with us.” He looked back at Alison. “Maybe we’ll go down there and grab Ashleigh, and meet you out front once you’re all dressed and cleaned up. Cool?”

Alison nodded. “Sure, cool,” she said. “Be down in a few minutes.”

The door to their room shut, and Alison turned back to Harmony. “Alright, you ready for day two of your Acclimation?” she asked.

Getting up to her feet, Harmony moved to stand in front of Alison. “So, from what I’ve seen studying the culture of this planet,” she said, her tone serious, “I’m pretty sure this would be an appropriate action at this point.”

“What is… oh,” Alison said, mildly surprised as Harmony wrapped her up into a warm embrace, arms enfolding around Alison’s waist as she pressed her curvy body to Alison’s. Alison returned the hug awkwardly, reaching her arms around Harmony’s shoulders and patting her gently on the back.

“Thank you so much, Alison,” Harmony said, her head resting on Alison’s shoulder. “This could have gone so much worse, but I guess I got lucky to have such a good roommate. You don’t know how much it means to have someone I can trust on this planet.” She looked up into Alison’s eyes, her warm smile taking Alison’s breath away for a moment. “You’re a good person, Alison. And if it takes my entire life, I’m going to pay you back for how much you’ve helped me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Alison said. “I mean, what are roommates for, anyway?”

There was a quiet, comfortable pause, the two of them with their arms still loosely around each other, before Harmony finally spoke up. “So, this is the point where humans would start having sex, right?” she asked innocently.

“What?” Alison said, backing out of Harmony’s embrace in surprise. “No, that’s not…” she started to say, before seeing Harmony’s expression and groaning. “Dammit, you promised you’d stop doing that!”

Harmony laughed. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s so much fun to watch you get that look on your face! Like…” she opened her eyes and mouth wide, looking uncannily like a stunned fish.

“I do not look like that, come on,” Alison said, laughing.

“Going to get a picture next time, I swear,” Harmony said with a smile.


	3. WICKED INTERLUDE: Remember the Past; Think About the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings on this one, so read without fear. As before, these interludes are optional, so feel free to skip if you're not interested in smut.

His dreams that night were full of blood.

Blood and bullets and bombs. The screams of innocent people caught up in the crossfire of a mob war ripping apart the Network.

And the last image before Mark jolted away was of his son Seth, the young boy in a black suit, giving a salute to a concrete headstone.

Mark jerked under the sheets, hand instinctively reaching across the mattress and finding nothing there. A moment of panic hit him like a dash of cold water, before he looked over to the nightstand and saw the time. “School day, right,” Mark muttered, leaning his head back on the pillow and taking a deep breath to calm himself. After a few minutes, he felt the horrors of his nightmare recede into the back of his mind.

Standing up and squinting in the dim light of the bedroom, Mark stretched out and yawned. A quick glance out of the closed venetian blinds showed that the weather in Aspen Plains was sunny and dry. Just like it was pretty much all the time. Mark sighed. There were days when he missed living in Chapel City. Just for the occasional rain and snow if nothing else.

“You up?” said a familiar voice from outside the bedroom door. “I’ve got breakfast ready.”

“I’m up,” he muttered, still not entirely awake but getting there slowly. He moved over to the chest of drawers opposite the foot of the bed, retrieving a fresh set of clothes for the day. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and studied his reflection in the dim light. Scratching at his stubbly face, his eyes focused on a small statuette resting just in front of the mirror.

He read the familiar plaque: “THE MOTION PICTURE ASSOCIATION OF ASPEN PLAINS – TECHNICAL AWARDS RECOGNIZES…”

* * *

_“Sean Takenaka,” Detective Bill Arnstead read off from the folder in his hand. He and Mark stared at the dark-haired bearded man through the one-way glass. Sean waited patiently in the adjoining interrogation room, staring at himself in the reflective side of the glass Mark and Bill were currently watching him through. “23 years old. Valley Green native, moved to Aspen Plains around three years ago. Currently working as a set dresser for Sovereign Pictures.” Bill glanced over at Mark. “Looks pretty calm in there, doesn’t he?”_

_Mark nodded, studying the man for any sign of guilt. “Either innocent, or really good at faking it. Maybe he picked up a few tricks from those Aspen Plains actors he works with.”_

_“Well, if he’s not nervous, he should be,” Bill said, looking over the file. “We’ve got several statements from folks at Sovereign confirming that Mr. Takenaka here had a past relationship with our victim, production designer Richard Sandoval, which ended badly. On top of that, Sandoval was bludgeoned to death with this,” Bill pointed at a picture of a heavy-looking statue, the base soaked with blood, “one of the props from the film that both of them were working on. They weren’t filming at the time, so the props were in storage, locked up tight. Only a handful of people would have access to the murder weapon, one of them being Mr. Takenaka.”_

_“So we’ve got motive, and access to the murder weapon,” Mark restated. “Any alibi from our boy here?”_

_“He claims he was out at a bar with some friends at the time of the murder,” Bill said. “We’re still trying to get into contact with the friends in question, but until we can verify his whereabouts, Takenaka here is our main guy.”_

_Mark shook his head, looking disgusted. “What are we doing on this case, Bill?” he asked. “Aspen Plains PD should be handling this.”_

_“Yes, I think you might have mentioned that once or twice before, Mark,” Bill said. “Look, the studio heads want this case wrapped up ASAP, so they can get back to shooting their little movie without a potential murderer on the film crew. Guess somebody pulled some favors and got the NPA involved, figured we’d get this wrapped up quickly.”_

_“Alright, let me at this guy,” Mark said, staring intently at the prime suspect on the other side of the glass. He cracked his knuckles. “If this smug dipshit did the murder, I’ll get it out of him.”_

_Bill sighed, resting a gentle hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark, just… don’t go too hard, alright? This case is enough of a political mess as it is, without getting us roped in on a police brutality complaint on top of everything else.”_

_Giving his partner a confident smirk, Mark yanked the case file out of Bill’s hand. “Trust me,” he said. “I can get a confession out of this guy without even laying a finger on him.”_

_He could feel Bill’s cautious stare on him as he stepped out into the hall. Such a softie. Always playing the “good cop,” kissing up to the suspect like they were best friends. Well, they didn’t have time for that. Studio suits wanted this solved quick? Mark would get the job done._

_Sean looked at the door as it swung open, Mark giving the suspect a hard stare as he entered. “Am I free to go?” Sean asked Mark. The detective took a seat opposite him at the cold metal table, tossing the case file folder onto the table right next to the pad and pen ready for a written confession._

_When Mark didn’t respond to Sean’s question, and simply glared at him in silence, Sean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Oh, of all the days for Zack to sleep in. Listen, detective, once you get in touch with Zack or Gerry, they’ll tell you I was with them all night. I couldn’t have possibly been the one to kill Richard.”_

_“So, you’ve got your alibi all set up, then,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arm. “And where was it that these two are going to claim you were last night?”_

_“The Main Street Saloon in Eagle Bay,” Sean said. “You ever been, detective?”_

_Mark blinked. “No,” he answered simply._

_“You should come by sometime,” Sean said, casual as could be, like he wasn’t the prime suspect in a murder case. “Lots of friendly folks, it’s a really great place. Oh, but maybe leave the badge at home. Might spook some of the fellas.”_

_“Alright, stop stalling,” Mark said, trying his best to take control back of the interrogation after a very odd start. “I don’t care if you’ve got a hundred of your pals ready to claim you spent the whole night out on the dance floor. I deal in facts, and right now the facts for you look pretty damn bad. So how about you just jot down how you murdered Mr. Sandoval on that pad right there,” he jabbed a finger at the paper in front of Sean, “and stop wasting my time.”_

_Sean gave Mark an intent look. “Listen, detective, I know you feel like you’ve got to do this whole ‘big tough guy’ routine with me, but I’m telling you. You’re looking at the wrong guy. Yeah, I work with the props over at Sovereign Studios. So do at least twenty other guys. Any one of them could have gotten hold of that statue.”_

_Mark narrowed his eyes, a smile creeping on his face. “Statue, huh? Who said anything about a statue? You seem to know a lot about a murder you had nothing to do with.”_

_“I noticed the statue was missing this morning, detective,” Sean explained. “I take my work seriously, just like you do. Part of my job is making sure that every prop we use is accounted for. And there was nothing missing when I left the night before. So, when I saw the statue was missing, I headed right over to the set to see if it was there. Then, when I saw the lights and police tape, and all my coworkers in the props department getting lined up and questioned… well, easy enough to put two and two together.”_

_He was sharp, Mark had to give him that. Or was it all just a well-constructed cover for his slip-up? Mark decided to press harder._

_“Seems like you’re pretty good at math, Mr. Takenaka,” Mark said, keeping his tone stern and unemotional. “How about this math problem? 2 – 1. As in you and Mr. Sandoval, minus you. We have several witnesses ready to testify to a relationship between you and the victim, one which ended rather badly. So a messy break-up, plus easy access to the murder weapon… how’s your math work out on that one, huh?”_

_For the first time since Mark had stepped in the room, Sean’s pleasantly calm attitude wavered just a little. “Not that it’s any of your business, detective,” Sean said, resting his arms on the table, “but there’s one problem with your calculations. **I** was the one who broke up with **Richard,** not the other way around. And as far as it being ‘messy,’ we had a few heated words once on the set, two months ago at this point. It was extremely unprofessional of both of us, and it wasn’t long after that when I ended things for good with him.”_

_There was a hint of pain in Sean’s tone, and Mark was surprised to find himself feeling a little guilty about opening old wounds. Dammit, he had come in here with a head of steam, ready to rip this guy to shreds. But despite everything, Mark found himself trusting Sean’s word. Something about the look in his eyes, so open and without a trace of artifice._

_“Still, you don’t seem too broken up about your ex-boyfriend getting murdered,” Mark said, grasping at straws for any reason to keep Sean as his prime suspect._

_Sean gave Mark a forced smile. “How was your relationship with your father, detective? Because mine was a real heartwarming tale. When I was young, I used to cry all the time. Scrape my knee? Somebody was mean to me on the playground? Just a total waterworks. But to my dad, that was just unacceptable. ‘Be a man, Sean,’ he’d say to me. ‘Stop being such a goddamn sissy all the time!’ And when words didn’t work… the belt came next. And eventually, I just learned to hold it all in. Got really good at keeping my tears all bottled up.” A harsh laugh. “And turns out it’s a skill that sticks with you a long time, even after the old man drinks himself into the ground. So, yeah, you’re not seeing me crying over Richard. Just like you wouldn’t see me crying over anyone, or anything.” He shrugged. “If that makes me guilty, then I guess slap the cuffs on me.”_

_“I’m… sorry,” Mark heard himself saying, hardly able to believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was sure Bill was getting a kick out of this behind that thick glass. Here Mark had come in ready to explode on this guy, and instead, he was apologizing to the goddamn suspect._

_Sean waved a hand dismissively. “I know, I’m such a cliché. ‘Poor little gay boy not manly enough for his dad.’ Seriously, though, I’ve gotten past it.”_

_“So, can you think of anyone else who could have wanted Mr. Sandoval dead?” Mark asked, his tone turning softer and less confrontational. “Was he dating anyone new, or mention any enemies?”_

_Sean shook his head. “When we broke up, Richard and I pretty much kept it professional at that point. Only things we talked about after that was where I should put the bowl of fruit so that it didn’t distract from Donovan Hoskins’s gorgeous eyes too much,” he said. “So, afraid I don’t really have much to give you, detective.”_

_A knock on the door leading out into the hall, and Bill stuck his head in. “See you out here, Mark?” he asked._

_Exhaling deeply, Mark rose to his feet. “Just a moment,” he said._

_“I’ll be right here… Mark,” Sean said, a beaming smile on his face. Mark was surprised to feel a light flush come to his dusky cheeks, and quickly averted his face from the former suspect to avoid letting him see it._

_Out in the hall, Bill gave Mark an amused smirk. “Well, I did say not to go too hard, but you seem to have that covered,” he said. Before Mark could respond, Bill held up a hand. “Just got word, Sean’s friend Zack finally called us back. Said that Sean was definitely with him and their friends at the bar for most of the night.” He brought up his phone, showing off a picture of Sean and another man close together in a selfie. “Even sent a picture over from his phone, time-stamped just a few minutes before the estimated time of death. Even with SLEGWIT, our boy would have to have gone through security and make his way halfway across the lot to the place we found Sandoval’s body.” He shook his head, looking mildly annoyed. “Looks like Mr. Takenaka isn’t our guy.”_

_Mark nodded. “Was getting that feeling myself,” he said. “So, we run through the rest of the props department again, see who else might be lacking an alibi for the night.”_

_“Yup, guess we’re back to the drawing board,” Bill said. “You want me to tell Mr. Takenaka he’s free to go?” Bill asked, a sly smile on his face. “I’m sure the very sight of you coming back into that room might be terrifying for him, after all.”_

_Mark gave his partner a roll of his eyes. “I’ll handle it, Bill. How about you start getting together a list of other possible suspects and we can start running down their whereabouts?”_

_“Sure thing,” Bill said, giving Mark one last grin as he headed back to his desk._

_Walking back into the interrogation room, Mark picked up the case file, tucking it under his arm. “Well, we heard from Zack. Looks like your alibi checks out.”_

_“Finally,” Sean said, exhaling deeply in relief. “Gonna have some words with that guy about answering his phone in the morning, I swear.”_

_“Well, looks like you’re free to go,” Mark said. “Unless you have any other information that you think will be helpful.”_

_Sean rose to his feet. “Not really, but would you mind if I ask you something, Mark?”_

_Mark was surprised at how quickly Sean had begun comfortably using his first name after overhearing it from Bill. And was even more surprised at how little it bothered him. “I may not be able to answer,” he said, “but go ahead.”_

_“Do detectives like you have a business card or something like that?” Sean asked._

_Mark nodded, reaching into a pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out one of his cards. “Sure, if you need to contact me regarding this case, my number’s right here,” Mark said._

_Sean took the card, studying it for a moment. Then, reaching down to the table, he grabbed the pen next to the “confession pad” and started writing. “If you should ever find yourself down in Eagle Bay,” Sean said, scrawling down a set of SLEGWIT coordinates, “here’s where the Main Street Saloon is.” He added another set of numbers and added. “And if you want somebody to share a drink with, give me a call. I’d be happy to meet you there.”_

_“I… well…” Mark found himself at a loss for words, as Sean slyly slipped the business card in his front pocket._

_“No pressure, just… think about it, okay?” Sean said. He gave Mark one last smile, before brushing past him and walking out of the interrogation room._

_* * *_

Mark traced his finger across the hastily-written numbers on his old business card, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Dad?” he heard Seth’s voice outside the door, along with a faint knock. “Dad, can I show you something?”

“Just a second, buddy,” Mark called out, tucking the card back into its place between the frame of the mirror and the reflective glass.

Outside of the bedroom door, Seth was waiting with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Ms. James told us to draw a picture of our dad’s job for class today,” the six-year-old said, “so I drew you. Daddy said I should have you look at it, though.”

Mark took the sheet from Seth and looked it over. On the page, a stickman covered with blocky blue clothes held a giant black “L” shape. From the end of it, triangle-shaped projectiles flew out in the direction of several other stick-men, laying down on the ground with X’s in place of their eyes.

“That’s you, Dad,” Seth helpfully narrated, pointing at the stick figure in blue. “And those are the bad guys you beat.”

* * *

_“So, it’s around two years ago now, I’m walking the beat down on the south side of Chapel City,” Mark said, taking a swallow of his beer before continuing, “Just under a half hour left on my shift, and I am just done. Spent the earlier part of that night convincing the local drunkard that the people coming through the SLEGWIT portals weren’t the ghosts of his dead relatives, and after that I had chased off a bunch of kids tossing rocks at a stray dog.”_

_“Ugh, kids,” Sean said, his bearded face twisting into a grimace. “Don’t know how anyone puts up with the little monsters.”_

_The two of them sat at a small table in the corner of the Main Street Saloon, off to the side where the loud thump of the jukebox was at its quietest. Sean had been right: it was a nice little place. Mark had stopped by the night after his ferociously brutal interrogation of Sean, and after three weeks of semi-regular visits was being greeted by name on a regular basis._

_Of course, as nice as the place was, the company was even better. Mark had taken Sean up on his other offer as well, and after a few times meeting him at the bar had found him to be a warm and friendly drinking companion. That night, Sean had asked him, “how did such a young, virile fella like you get to be an NPA detective at the ginger young age of 23?”_

_“So, few minutes left on my beat, I see Trey heading in my direction,” Mark continued his story. “Local junkie, bit off in the head but a decent sort, willing to talk to the cops unlike a lot of people in the neighborhood. He runs up to me, and I’m thinking he’s having another one of his freak-outs. But he tells he saw something suspicious happening down a nearby alleyway. So, I go check it out and…”_

_“You weren’t worried it was a trap or something?” Sean interrupted. “Somebody trying to lure a cop into a dark alley where nobody would hear him scream?”_

_This brought a smirk to Mark’s face. “Trust me, if any south side thugs wanted to draw me into a trap… they wouldn’t have chosen Trey to be the lure. Guy could barely even remember his name half the time. So anyway, I go to the alley he tells me about, and I see a couple of guys closing up the back of a truck. Tough-looking guys, definitely not locals.”_

_Sean nodded. “And a truck… as in one they drove? Who uses those anymore?”_

_Mark gestured with his left hand, giving Sean a smile as he took another drink from the mug in his right. “Right, exactly,” he said. “Pretty much everyone uses SCaLEs now for moving cargo. If anyone is still using a truck, it probably means they’re moving something they can’t load and unload on a public thoroughfare.”_

_“So, sounds like something illegal going on in that back alleyway,” Sean observed._

_“Definitely shady, but no PC yet,” Mark said, then added. “That’s ‘probable cause,’ as in…”_

_Sean waved his hand with a grin. “Hey, I did set dressing for ‘CCPD Nights’ for two seasons, I picked up some of that tough guy cop lingo of yours.”_

_“So I decide to check it out,” Mark said. “I move in a little bit closer, keeping out of sight of the two guys out in the alleyway. I see them heading into the building nearby, and just before the door closes behind them… I hear someone scream.”_

_“Ah, jeez,” Sean said, taking a swallow of his beer. “You know, when I asked how you got to be a detective so young, I was hoping it would be, you know, saving a bunch of puppies from a pet store fire. Something a little more heart-warming and a lot less soul-destroying.”_

_“You want me to stop?” Mark said, giving the man sitting across from him a rare smile. “I wouldn’t want to send you home tonight with any nightmares.”_

_“Nah, just… leave out the gory details, if you wouldn’t mind,” Sean responded. “Although, if I do have any nightmares tonight, maybe I’ll call my local NPA authorities. Have them come over and chase them away with their big guns.”_

_Mark blushed a little, glancing down at the table. “Well, anyway…” he said, clearing his throat. “At this point, I know something bad’s going down in there. II go for the door, and it’s actually unlocked.”_

_“You… just went in?” Sean asked in disbelief._

_Mark nodded. “There was a scream. I had to check it out. So I head inside, keeping quiet. Find myself in this small hallway, and first thing I see is a door half-open in front of me. I poke my head in, and right away I see what these guys have been hiding. There’s about ten or so young women – girls, really – looking scared and half-starved, barely dressed. Found out later they were all Malevanka girls. Those guys I saw had told them all these big stories about good jobs waiting for them in Chapel City, but they were just out to sell them into prostitution.”_

_Sean said nothing, simply drinking his beer and staring at Mark thoughtfully._

_“So the girls start catching sight of me, and I’m worried they’re going to scream or something. But one of them, looked to be the oldest of the group, quiets them down. Points to my right,” Mark demonstrated, “and then holds up four fingers, and then...” he held his hand up in a gun shape. “So I turn and… hold on a second.”_

_He waved over to Daryl at the bar, and the slim, delicate-featured bartender strolled over. “Another one of the same, Mark?” Daryl asked._

_“Yeah,” Mark said, turning to Sean. “You want another beer?” Sean shook his head. “Sure? It’s on me.”_

_“I’m fine,” Sean finally spoke up. It was strange, but Mark had never heard Sean sound this muted before. Not since back in the interrogation room, when Mark had probed a little too hard into his past._

_Mark considered asking if he should stop the story, wondering if it was getting too upsetting for Sean. But he was on a roll now, and just getting to the good part. “So, I go in the direction the woman points, and poke my head through the door on the other side of the hall. Sure enough, just like she indicated: four guys sitting around a table. Their guns sitting in front of them, no idea I was there. I could hear them talking and laughing, but it was in another language, so no idea what they were saying. But at that moment, seeing these guys joking and laughing, with a room full of innocent girls locked up just a few feet away… I just went for it.”_

_Raising up his hand with an imaginary gun, Mark aimed it off to the side. “’Freeze, CCPD!’ I yell out. These guys are caught totally off-guard. One of them goes for their weapon… bam! Caught him right in the shoulder, he hits the deck. The other three think about it for a second, decide it isn’t worth it, hands in the air. I get them all cuffed, call in to dispatch to bring them and the girls in… and that was the day I just happened to walk into a major human trafficking operation and shut it down single-handedly,” Mark declared. “Medal ceremony on TV, the chief of police personally congratulating me. I was made detective by the end of the month.” He gestured with his hands. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”_

_Sean stared at Mark, seeming to consider something for a moment. “Mark, I have to tell you… that has to be one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard.”_

_“Ha, ha, very funny,” Mark said sarcastically, reaching across to slap Sean lightly on the shoulder._

_“I’m serious, Mark,” Sean said. “You went into that situation, on your own… why didn’t you call for backup?”_

_Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard that scream, and I guess I just wasn’t thinking about it. Somebody might have been in immediate danger.”_

_“Yeah, but was that worth putting yourself in even worse danger?” Sean questioned. “And once you had gone in and knew there were four guys with guns in there… what if you had missed that shot? What if all four of them had gone for their guns at once? And what if the girl was wrong, and there were other guys in the building that she hadn’t seen?”_

_Rolling his eyes, Mark glanced over to accept the fresh beer from Daryl. “I don’t know… what does it matter? It all worked out in the end.”_

_“And if it hadn’t, you’d be in a body bag,” Sean said, sounding frustrated as he reached up to press against his closed eyes with the tips of his thumb and index finger._

_“Jeez, you sound just like my partner, you know?” Mark said, taking a swig from his frothing mug. “Always telling me to be cautious. Keep calm and take things slow. But when there’s lives on the line and people are counting on you… you just can’t think like that. I take a lot of risks, but if it means that someone else gets to come home safe, then I’m willing to do whatever it takes to do my job. And make whatever sacrifice I need to.”_

_There was a long pause at that point, Sean simply staring at Mark with a tired expression. Finally, he let out a long, ragged breath. “You remember back in that interrogation room?” he asked, his tone weary. “You asked me about my relationship with Richard, and I told you that I broke it off with him. But I never told you why, did I?” Mark shook his head. “It’s funny, but the same reason I ended things with him, was the same reason I started dating him in the first place. He was just so… wild. Spontaneous, full of life. It was exciting at first, but I suppose I should have seen the warning signs. I remember, he bought this expensive sports car, and within a week of getting it he had been speeding down the highway, and just totaled it. They said it was a miracle he had escaped from the accident unscathed. That big fight we had on set? He had just told me he had gone back to the dealership to buy another one. Probably to drive it around just as recklessly as the last one. And I just… I can’t deal with someone who is going to act like that. Take so many risks and put their life on the line for no reason. I just don’t have it in me.”_

_Mark was quiet, not sure how to respond. It was Sean who ended up breaking up the tense moment by rising to his feet._

_“I just remembered, I have to get an early start tomorrow morning,” Sean said. “Have a good night, Mark.” There was something in the tone of those last words, that told Mark what they really meant: “Have a nice life.”_

_“Sean, wait,” he said, getting up from his chair and following Sean as he made his way to the bar’s exit._

_“Mark, please, just… I can’t do this again,” Sean said, pausing in his retreat but not turning around. “It’s best that we just end this right here, before both of us end up getting hurt. I need somebody who is ready to think about the future, and not do everything they can to kill themselves in the present. Trust me, this is better for both of us.”_

_Mark opened his mouth to protest again, but Sean was already heading out of the door. While Mark could do nothing but…_

* * *

…stare at the picture Seth had handed him, the young boy waiting in eager anticipation for his father’s approval.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Mark finally said. “This might be a little much for the kids at school to handle. Couldn’t you have drawn a picture of Daddy’s job instead?”

“But…” Seth started to say, before glancing behind him into the living room and leaning in close to Mark. He lowered his voice. “Daddy’s job is boring. Your job is a lot cooler.”

“Seth, Daddy’s job is just as ‘cool’ as mine is,” Mark calmly explained. “You know those shows you watch on TV? And that movie we took you out to last weekend? None of those would happen without people like your daddy there to help make it happen.”

“I know,” Seth said, “but it isn’t like your job. You beat up on bad guys and protect good guys. You’re a hero, Dad.”

Mark gestured to his son. “Come over here a second, Seth,” he said, the two of them sitting on the side of Mark’s bed. “You know, there’s a difference between the heroes on TV, and real-life heroes. Heroes in real life… they do their best _not_ to hurt the bad guys.”

“They do?” Seth asked, giving his father a confused look. “But… they’re bad guys.”

“But the thing about those ‘bad guys’ in real life, is that they don’t have to stay bad,” Mark patiently explained. “Sometimes, if we can just catch them without hurting them, and punish them for what they did bad… then eventually, they might turn good.”

Seth nodded in understanding. “Like when the Super Squad beat Evilina and she touched the Purity Gem and turned into Molly Starshine?”

“Uh, right, kind of like that,” Mark said. He only vaguely understood most of the kids shows Seth watched. “So, what you drew in your picture,” Mark said, holding up the paper, “that’s not a good thing. When I have to beat bad guys like this, it doesn’t make me happy. It means that the bad guys didn’t give me any other choice. It actually makes me feel kind of sad to see something like this.”

“Oh,” Seth said, looking dejected. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“It’s okay, Seth,” Mark said, reaching up to tousle his son’s blond hair. “Just… maybe you should come up with a different picture.”

Seth gave Mark a despairing look. “But it’s due today, Dad! I don’t have time to draw another one! Tommy forgot to do an assignment last week, and Ms. Reeves made him sit in the corner for the rest of class!”

Mark let out a sigh, handing the picture back to Seth. “Alright, fine,” he said, already anticipating the concerned call he’d be getting from Seth’s school. “Just… maybe draw me protecting good people next time, okay?”

Seth still looked concerned. “Am I in trouble, Dad?”

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Mark said, giving Seth a warm smile. “Go on, get going to school.”

“Alright, see you tonight, Dad!” Seth said, jumping up from the bed and heading out of the bedroom door. Out in the hallway, he turned in the direction of the kitchen. “He said it was okay, Daddy! I’m going now, bye!”

Mark chuckled to himself. He supposed he should enjoy the days when his son actually enjoyed going to school as long as he could. As he got up from the bed, he heard Seth grab his backpack. Then the…

* * *

_…front door opened, Bill looking surprised to see Mark standing outside. “Hey, what’s going on, Mark?” the older detective said, glancing outside at the early evening sky, the sun slowly heading for the edge of the horizon. “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”_

_“Sorry about showing up so late, Bill,” Mark said, buzzing with excitement. “But we had a major break in the Sandoval case, and I figured you’d want to know right away.”_

_“Really?” Bill said. “You couldn’t have just called? Never mind, come in and tell me all about it.”_

_Mark followed Bill into the house. He was a little surprised at the interior. Having never visited his partner’s home before, he hadn’t expected it to be so well-decorated. His eyes caught something against one of the walls, resting underneath a velvet painting: several suitcases lined up. “You going somewhere, Bill?” Mark asked._

_Bill followed Mark’s look. “Oh, right,” he said, giving a casual shrug. “Yeah, sorry, forgot to tell you before. I decided I’d finally use some of that time off I had built up. Bit spur of the moment, but with all those movie people driving me nuts on this Aspen Plains case, figured I deserved a vacation. I let Sergeant Blakely know I’d be out for the next two weeks.”_

_Mark gave Bill a quizzical look. “I talked to Blakely an hour or so ago, he didn’t mention it.”_

_“Really?” Bill said, leading Mark past the row of suitcases into his living room. “I left the request on his desk. Guess maybe it got lost in all the other crap he has piling up. Anyway, doesn’t matter. What have you got on the Sandoval case?”_

_Entering into Bill’s living room, Mark sat down on a brown leather recliner, while Bill slouched down on a matching couch. “So, turns out we were looking at this entirely the wrong way,” Mark said. “We were focusing on the potential perps on the props crew… it never occurred to me to take a closer look at Sandoval himself.”_

_“At the victim?” Bill asked, reaching over to a coffee table where a glass of scotch had already been sitting._

_“Did you know that Sandoval purchased two expensive sports cars in the past few months?” Mark asked. “Bought one and got in a wreck with it, and just went right out the next week and bought another one. I don’t care how good your insurance is, that had to have cost some serious money. Much more than a mid-level Aspen Plains film worker would be making.”_

_Bill arched his brow, sipping on his drink. “Interesting. So you’re thinking our boy Richard was making a little something on the side.”_

_Mark nodded. “It was flimsy, but I know an Aspen Plains judge who’s in his office late, and hands out search warrants like they’re candy. Once I got in to search Sandoval’s former residence, it only took me a few minutes. Guy made it pretty easy for us, left his ledger right out on the desk in his office. List of purchases and sales, along with a few payoffs thrown in.”_

_“Purchases and sales of what, exactly?” Bill asked._

_“Artifacts,” Mark explained. “I looked up some of the items he had written down, turns out they were stolen pieces from museums and collectors outside of the Network. Didn’t take me long to piece it together from there. Sandoval was working a racket where his people would get the stolen items past the Network Border Patrol disguised as props for his latest movie, mixing the real pieces in with a bunch of replicas. Then, once the film was wrapped and the props weren’t needed anymore, he’d pass the real items off to some contacts in the black market, and get a cut of the sales once they were auctioned off.”_

_Bill considered this. “So, you’re saying that statue that bashed his skull in…”_

_“Yep, some ancient carving that got ripped off in a burglary outside of the Valley Green borders,” Mark said. “Evidence of his whole scheme, used to murder him.”_

_“But that doesn’t tell us who killed him,” Bill said._

_Mark waved a finger in the air. “Not finished yet. That ledger gave us all the details. Including the split Sandoval had with his partner: Harry Lucidio, the props master. Once I had Lucidio brought in and showed him the dirt we had, didn’t take much pressure before he confessed to the whole thing. Turned out the two of them had had a dispute over Lucidio’s share of the profits. There was a struggle, Harry gave Richard a whack with one of the stolen items… partnership dissolved.”_

_“No kidding,” Bill said. “You managed to work that all out in one night? Great work, buddy. I’m sure the Sovereign Pictures people are going to be thrilled we wrapped this one up for them.”_

_“Wasn’t just me,” Mark said. “Something a friend of mine said earlier today got me thinking about the case in a different light. Once I did, it all fell together.”_

_“Well, however it happened,” Bill said, clapping his hands and rising to his feet. “I’m sure Blakely is gonna enjoy wiping that one off the active case docket. Just hope you can manage the next one by yourself while I’m out of town.” He extended his hand to Mark. “Come on. It’s been a long night. You should probably go home and get some rest.”_

_Mark took Bill’s hand and rose to his feet. “Actually, before I go… there was one other thing.”_

_“Oh?” Bill said. “Sounded to me like everything was wrapped up.”_

_“There was one missing piece that had me confused for a while there,” Mark said. “See, I understood how Sandoval’s people were getting the pieces into the Network. But I couldn’t quite figure out how his people were getting back out of the Network to bring in more of the stolen artifacts. You and I both know how tough it is to cross the border and leave the Network without some sort of official paperwork.”_

_“Yeah, it’s definitely not easy,” Bill said. “Hey, keep talking, I’m going to go get another drink from the kitchen. You mind?”_

_Mark shook his head, as Bill walked through a nearby archway. “So, I told you there were entries in Sandoval’s ledger for various payouts,” Mark continued, raising his voice so Bill could hear him from the other room. “Some to Lucidio, some to the thieves themselves. But then there were some entries that just were listed as ‘passage forms.’ No names given, no indication on who was providing those forms.”_

_“Hmm, that’s a puzzle,” said Bill’s voice coming out of the kitchen._

_“Once we brought in Lucidio, though, he helped me fill in the blanks,” Mark explained. “Told me that Sandoval had a man who was able to get him forged documentation for his people to exit the Network. Somebody on his payroll who had access to official forms from the NPA.”_

_“Jeez, can you believe it? Somebody on the NPA getting involved in this smuggling business? That’s wild,” Bill said. “Hey, buddy, do you see my phone in there? Think I left it lying on the table.”_

_Mark glanced down. “No… I don’t see your…”_

_There was a loud click. Mark looked up to see Bill standing in the kitchen archway, revolver in hand and pointed at Mark’s head._

_“Stop bullshitting me, Mark,” Bill said, cold steel in his tone. “You already knew it was me from before you even walked in that door, didn’t you?”_

_“I was hoping that maybe you’d confess,” Mark said. “Come in quietly, show at least a modicum of intelligence.” He shifted his arm slightly, moving slightly towards his waist._

_“Unh unh unh,” Bill said. “Hands up where I can see them.”_

_Begrudgingly, Mark raised his hands in the air. With his pistol still pointed at Mark, Bill moved in close, reaching under Mark’s jacket and grabbing his service pistol from the holster at his side. Tossing on the floor, he then reached into his own pocket, retrieving a set of handcuffs. “Over there,” he commanded Mark. “Cuff yourself to that light fixture.”_

_With no other option, Mark complied, fastening one of the cuffs to the metal sconce on the wall, and the other to his wrist. “Bill, think about this,” Mark said. “You can’t possibly believe you’re going to get away with this.”_

_Bill let out a sharp laugh. “Of course I am, old buddy,” he mockingly responded. “Because I know you too well. The second you worked out that I was Sandoval’s inside man on the NPA, you rushed right over here to haul me in by yourself, didn’t you? You didn’t bring any backup, you probably didn’t even tell anyone you were coming here, did you? No, because you have to play the hero. Super Detective Mark McLoughlin, bringing down the bad guys single-handedly.”_

_Mark said nothing, simply glaring at his corrupt partner with utter disdain._

_Bill shook his head, chiding Mark. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I? You need to take it slow and cautious. Have a plan before you rush into things. Like me: when I got the heads-up that you were bringing in Lucidio from one of my people,” he gestured back towards the suitcases arranged by the front door, “I already had my escape plan ready to go. Of course, it would have gone a lot smoother if you hadn’t shown your face just before I was ready to leave, but I’m still walking away from this in the end.”_

_Bill took a step towards the door, but hesitated. “You know, I was just going to leave you here,” he said, moving back towards Mark. “Let you explain to the brass how you let me get away scot free. But with how clever you were to get this far… why leave it to chance that you might actually figure out where I’m heading to?” he brought his revolver up, pointing directly between Mark’s eyes. “Congratulations on the big bust, Mark. Sorry you won’t be around to enjoy it.”_

_“Wait, wait,” Mark quickly said. “Before you pull that trigger, there’s something you need to know.”_

_Bill hesitated. “And what’s that, old pal?” he asked mockingly._

_Mark hesitated for a moment, then a smile crept onto his face. “I didn’t come alone,” he said, before quickly raising his voice. “All teams, move in now.”_

_Bill only had time to blink once and say “What…” before the front and back doors of his house were kicked down, and the sound of heavy footsteps echoed across the walls._

_“Drop the gun, do it now!” called out one of the NPA SWAT unit leaders, he and his team of heavily-armed officers charging through the shattered door frame, their submachine guns trained on Bill._

_“Weapon on the ground, on your knees!” yelled out the team lead from the other unit coming in the back, his men also with their weapons at the ready._

_Staring around in shock, Bill slowly let his gun fall from his fingers. As he hit the carpet on his knees, he looked up at Mark, being uncuffed from the wall by one of the backup units._

_“Did you get all that?” Mark asked the man freeing him from the cuffs._

_“Sure did, detective,” said the SWAT team member. “Every word came through loud and clear on your mic.”_

_As he was hauled up to his feet, hands cuffed behind his back, a smile crept onto Bill’s face despite his circumstances. “Well done, detective,” he said to Mark. “Looks like you learned something from me after all.”_

_“Not from you, Bill,” Mark said, his expression stern as he watched his former partner being led away. “Not a damn thing from you.”_

* * *

“He learns that from you, you know,” Mark called out of the bedroom door. “You shouldn’t let him watch those action shows.”

“Aw, but he loves them,” came the response.

Mark rolled his eyes. “Fine, you get to be the one to explain to his teacher why our son is drawing shooting sprees for class.”

He headed into the bathroom, going through the usual morning routine. A few minutes later, showered and shaved, he adjusted his tie and walked through the house over to the kitchen.

“Oh, wow,” Mark said, sitting down at their small kitchen table to a plate full of sausage, bacon and eggs. “Thought you said we should be cutting back on fatty foods.”

Sitting down across from him, his husband Sean smiled guiltily. “Yeah, well, you have to treat yourself every so often,” he said. “And today I figured…”

* * *

_“…what the hell?” Sean said, staring at Mark through the cracked-open front door. He was dressed in a tank top and plaid pajama bottoms, and had obviously been sleeping when Mark had rung his doorbell. “Mark, do you know what time it is?”_

_“We found him, Sean,” Mark responded. “The man who killed Richard. We got him.”_

_Sean paused, looking a bit stunned. “Oh,” he finally said. “Maybe you should come in.”_

_Stepping into the living room of Sean’s small home was like walking into a different reality from Bill’s tasteful and pricey décor. Faded, threadbare furniture, with only the barest of decorations. If Mark had had even the inkling that Sean might have been involved in Sandoval’s smuggling scheme – and the detailed nature of Sandoval’s ledger made another, secret partner unlikely – it would have been dispelled the second he walked into Sean’s home._

_“Sorry to wake you,” Mark said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook near the door. “But I figured you’d want to hear about this.”_

_“No, it’s fine,” Sean said, looking much more alert already. “So, tell me what happened.”_

_The two of them sat down next to each other on the couch and, over the course of the next few fifteen minutes, Mark laid out all of the details. How Sean’s comments regarding Sandoval’s car purchases had given Mark the idea to search the man’s residence. Sean let out a gasp as Mark revealed the guilt of Sean’s co-worker Harry Lucidio, and the artifact smuggling scheme the two of them had been involved in. And his brow creased with concern as Mark told him about his stand-off with his former partner._

_Once Mark was finished, Sean leaned back, letting out a long-bated breath. “Shit, this is a lot,” he said. “I mean, I knew Richard was the type to take risks. But I had no idea he was involved in anything criminal. And Harry too?” Sean rubbed his forehead. “Jeez, you’ve been trying to solve this case for almost a month now, and I broke the whole thing open for you with just a few words?”_

_Mark nodded. “It was part of the reason I came over tonight. I wanted to thank you in person.”_

_Sean waved it off. “Nah, I’m sure you would have figured it out on your own eventually. You’re the super cop who solved your case in a single night. I just gave you a hint in the right direction.”_

_“It’s not just that,” Mark said. “I… there was something Bill said to me just before we took him into custody. It reminded me of what you said back at the bar.”_

_This brought out a pained sigh from Sean. “Mark, please don’t. I appreciate you coming to tell me about Harry, but I thought I made myself clear that...”_

_“Just listen, please,” Mark said. “See, Bill was sure I had come alone. That I had charged in without thinking, just like I always did. And the thing is… yesterday he would have been right. Hell, even earlier today, he would have been right. When I had Harry in that interrogation room, and he dropped Bill’s name as the dirty cop feeding him and Richard the NPA forms, I was furious. Any other day, I might have rushed right over to Bill’s house and tried to take him in myself. But I thought about what you said. About the risks I took two years ago, and every other risk I’ve taken since then. So I took it slow. Called in backup and did it all according to procedure. And in the end… it saved my life.”_

_Mark leaned forward, wringing his hands as he worked up his nerve for the next words. It was a long time before he spoke again, and when he did, his tone was soft and introspective. “My father died when I was eight,” he said. “Hit and run driver, left him lying by the side of the road. No witnesses, the police never found the guy who did it. Just… one day he was there, the next day he wasn’t,” A bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Sad part was… Chapel City was in the process of being added to the SLEGWIT network at the time. Just a few months later, once it was all finished, the number of cars on the road went down 85%. My dad… he managed to sneak in just in the nick of time.”_

_Tentatively, Sean laid a comforting hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he said. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”_

_“I used to tell myself that was why I took so many risks as a cop,” Mark said, staring forward as he bared his soul. “That I would do whatever it took to make sure nobody else had to go through the pain I did, of having to lose someone they cared about. But the truth is… at some point, I just stopped caring. About myself, my own safety. Why should I? My dad wasn’t a risk taker. He was the most boring, safe man I had ever known… and it hadn’t mattered. He still ended up bleeding out in the gutter, no one there to be with him as he died. So why bother thinking about the future, when it can all be taken away from you in the blink of an eye?”_

_Mark looked over at Sean, eyes glistening. “But I can’t live that way anymore. Not when it could cost me so much. What you said before you left… it didn’t just get me thinking about the case. For the first time since I heard my mother take that call and collapse in tears on the kitchen floor… I thought about the future. And who I want to be in it.”_

_That moment of hesitation from Sean seemed to last for an eternity. Mark knew that it was just words to the man. That he had every reason to doubt that Mark would be able to keep his promise. Mark studied Sean’s face, his detective’s eye desperately hunting for any sign of what he would do next._

_Finally, it happened. Leaning in Mark’s direction, Sean rested a gentle hand on his cheek, before moving in to press his lips to Mark’s._

_Mark kissed him back, feeling the harsh scratch of Sean’s beard on his face but not caring. The soft touch of their lips quickly turned hard and passionate. Mark felt himself getting short of breath as Sean’s hands reached for the front of Mark’s starched white shirt, fumbling with the buttons and clumsily undoing them, one-by-one._

_Finally coming up for breath, Mark gently pushed Sean’s hands away, finishing the process of removing his shirt and revealing the lean bare chest underneath. Mark saw the look of quiet admiration on Sean’s face, and couldn’t help but smile. Casting the shirt aside, Mark moved in to kiss the other man again. Sean leaned back against the side of the couch, Mark moving forward and pressing his weight down against him._

_Tentatively, Mark reached a hand down to Sean’s thigh, massaging his leg through his flannel PJs. He moved his touch up slowly, attentive for any sign of reluctance as his fingers found the hard swell underneath the plaid fabric. Instead, Sean let out a muffled moan against Mark’s insistent lips, as Mark’s fingers found their way inside the open fly of Sean’s pants, gripping the waistband of Sean’s briefs inside and slowly sliding them downward._

_Soon enough, Mark’s fingers wrapped around the base of Sean’s cock, softly drawing it above Sean’s briefs and out into the dim moonlight streaming through Sean’s living room windows. Breaking off the passionate kiss, Mark slowly slid down the length of the couch, lying on his stomach and putting his face directly between Sean’s thighs._

_Sean gasped, as the warmth of Mark’s mouth soon enfolded the head of his cock. His breathing increased in pace, as Mark dutifully serviced his manhood, lips and tongue lovingly caressing the throbbing shaft. Sean’s fingers gripped the couch cushions hard, as Mark’s oral attentions drew him tantalizingly close to climax._

_“Hey,” Sean finally breathed, drawing Mark’s attention up from between his thighs. He smirked and said, “Just because I saved your life tonight, doesn’t mean that you have to spend all night down there.” He gestured upward, directing Mark to get to his feet. Once Mark had obeyed, Sean joined him, reaching for Mark’s belt and yanking down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. The two of them kissed again, Sean reaching down to take hold of Mark’s stiff cock and softly stroke it. Mark grabbed the bottom of Sean’s t-shirt and pulled it upward, the two of them breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the garment up and over Sean’s head and toss it away. Mark started to move in again, only for Sean to hold up a finger between their lips. With a light shove, Sean sent him back-first into the couch, before moving to lay on top of him, lips meeting his yet again._

_Their bodies pressed together, and Mark let out a low moan as their cocks began rubbing against each other. Reaching down between them, Sean took hold of both of the two hard shafts, stroking himself and Mark at the same time. The dual stimulation of fingers and cock against his manhood soon proved to be too much for Mark, and he threw his head back and moaned as he felt a warm splash against his stomach, his entire body buzzing from the strength of his climax. Not long afterward, Sean felt his release as well, and his cum soon mingled with Mark’s, dripping down the young detective’s bare, rippling abs._

_The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, both of them panting and glistening with passionate sweat. After a moment, Mark shot a glance down at the trails of cum on his stomach. “You mind if I use your shower?” he asked._

_“Oh, don’t you dare,” Sean said, starting to move downward. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, officer.”_

* * *

“Mmm, delicious,” Sean said, finishing off the last forkful of his breakfast. “I should have been a chef. Almost worth the extra calories.”

Mark said nothing, scrolling through his phone to check the latest news while eating with his other hand. No stories of any murders overnight on Midpoint Media. As much as Mark wasn’t a fan of that preening pop singer Kyron Collins, the fact that a picture of him – grinning at Club Crimson the previous night – was at the top of the page, was a welcome indicator that no larger stories had come up recently. For a moment, Mark allowed himself to hope that the death of Howard Keenan would be where this whole bloody affair would come to its conclusion.

Sean watched him, an amused smile on his face. “So, I thought you should know that I’m running off to Sommerset Beach with this nice script girl I met at the studio,” he said.

“Mm hmm,” Mark said, switching to his message app. No urgent texts from anyone at the station house. And no sign of any hung-over excuses from Marielle as of yet. Dare he actually hope that she would be at her desk on time today? No. Mark stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.

“Yeah, sorry for wasting your time the past three years,” Sean said. “But I gave it a try, and turns out this hetero thing is _super_ awesome! So, guess we should get custody arrangements for Seth out of the way before I pack my bags, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mark responded, pulling up the autopsy report for Keenan that had been sent over. Toxicology report was clean, so he wasn’t drugged into tossing himself out of the window. No sign of…

Reaching forward, Sean snapped his fingers in front of Mark’s face. “Come on, you can’t give me a few minutes in the morning?” he said, as Mark finally focused his attention on his husband. “The bodies will all still be there when you get to the office, honey.”

“Sorry, it’s just… things are a little tense lately,” Mark responded. He thought about telling Sean about his meeting with the Network’s biggest gangster, but decided that it would only worry him. “Some big-time mobsters making moves against each other.”

Sean frowned. “Well, you just be careful, okay,” he said. “Despite our son’s artistic inspirations, you can feel free to let the other boys in blue shoot up the bad guys.”

Mark nodded. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t plan to join in on any raids anytime soon. I just hope I’m not stuck doing a bunch of overtime when Gaultier and Ariano start putting out hits on each other’s people.”

“Well, you can stay late if you need to,” Sean said, reaching a hand over to take Mark’s. “Just as long as you make sure to come home in the end.”

Mark smiled, the nightmare from the previous night completely faded from his mind. “Trust me, Sean,” he said, caressing his husband’s hand and playing with the ring on his finger. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure I have a long future ahead of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sample of the conversations going on in my head:
> 
> "Hey, NOM. Think it's time for you to finally challenge yourself by writing a M/M sex scene."
> 
> "Yeah, no problem. Let's do this!" 
> 
> (proceeds to expand a small interlude into a 17 page short story, just to avoid getting to the actual sex scene part)


	4. Encouraging

Letting herself fall back onto her newly-made bed, Clio stared up at the ceiling of her room.

 _Her_ room. Her _room._ This was her room now. She said it in her head. “This is _my_ room. My perfect little room in my perfect new home.”

Everything was moving so quickly. Just yesterday, she had been standing out in front of this luxurious former lighthouse, wondering what would be the odds that she would be picked out of the dozens… probably hundreds who would be competing for it. Now, she was here, completely moved into her new place in less than a day.

Of course, her own lifestyle choices had contributed a lot to how fast it had all happened. Ever since she was young, and had started snapping pictures at every opportunity, Clio had never been too hung up on physical things. Why waste the space carrying around a bunch of old junk, she had figured, when she could look at all of her old photos and relive those same memories? Her older brother Tobin used to tease her about it all the time, always giving her that same chiding look as she would sell, give away, or just throw out so many of her possessions from when she was younger.

“What about the feel of that ratty old doll you slept with when you were a kid?” Tobin would ask her. “The sound of the gears clicking together in that wind-up ballerina? The smell of that blanket you and Amedeo used to spread out on the front lawn so you could watch the stars together? You can’t get any of those from a picture, you know.”

But that was the funny thing. When Clio looked at old pictures from when she was younger – starting from the blurry physical photographs of her youth, all the way up to the digital images stored on memory sticks and backed up to the cloud – sometimes she was sure she _could_ feel the coarse threads of that sad little doll, or smell that grass-stained blanket. Just a little bit of time staring at one of those images, and she was right back at that moment when she triggered the shutter, and captured a piece of her personal history for all time. Who needed to carry around a bunch of old crap, when the memory of it all had been documented so well by her camera?

In any case, her lack of sentimentality when it came to physical objects made it extremely easy to relocate when the time came. Just some boxes of clothes, her laptop and camera equipment, and a few other odds and ends. Thanks to this place already being furnished, she hadn’t even needed to worry about furniture at all, so everything had fit into one medium-sized SCaLE easily enough. And once the hovering metal container had arrived, it had only taken her and Isabella a few trips up and down the stairs to get everything up to Clio’s new room.

Although their pace had been slowed a little, due to Clio making sure to move as quietly as possible past the door to one upstairs room in particular.

“Lara came in late last night,” Isabella had explained as she gestured to Lara’s closed bedroom door, getting that same uncomfortable look on her face that she always seemed to have whenever the topic of their roommate came up. “Think she got some bad news at her job or something. Probably best that we don’t disturb her.”

“Sounds good to me,” Clio had said, as if she had even considered having any interactions with Lara other than what was absolutely essential. Today was going so well right now. Clio hoped desperately that Lara wouldn’t show her face and ruin it.

But for now, the coast was clear. Both inside her new home, and looking out across the gorgeous view of the rolling ocean tide from her bedroom window. Clio let out a long, blissful sigh as she took a moment to relax, spreading herself across the mattress. As of today, she was officially living here. And it was pretty damn awesome.

There was a knock at the door, Isabella poking her head in with a smile. “Getting settled in alright?”

“Oh, my God, this bed is amazing,” Clio sighed, wriggling around on the bed. “Is there anything about this house that isn’t absolutely perfect?” She sat up, crossing her legs and beaming at Isabella. “Thank you so much again for picking me. You don’t know how much it means to me, being able to live in such a spectacular place.”

“Well, we’re lucky to have you,” Isabella said. “Even if not all of us have realized it yet. You mind if I come in?”

“No, come right in,” Clio beckoned her with a hand.

Stepping inside the room, Isabella glanced around at Clio’s redecoration of her new room. Clio hadn’t had a chance to personalize the space much yet, aside from placing framed prints of some of her photos on the nightstands and chests of drawers. “These are all your work, I assume?” Isabella asked, focusing on one picture in particular.

“That’s right,” Clio said. “That one there is of my home back in Huaca Brava,” she chuckled. “Quite a difference from this place.”

“Sure is,” Isabella said, picking up the framed picture and studying it. “Wow, it’s so small. And you grew up with four brothers and sisters here?”

Clio nodded. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly comfortable living. But there are times when I do miss those old days,” she said. “Never would have imagined back then where I’d be now: shooting photos for one of the biggest websites on the Network.”

That was a lie, of course, but one she was used to telling out of fear of seeming too cocky. Truth was, Clio had _always_ imagined herself in this position. That was her father’s doing in a lot of ways: “Dreaming is for sleepers,” he’d always say. “And we Quadays are always wide awake.” When she had started showing a passion for photography, Eugenio had never stopped pushing his daughter to work towards her goals. To not just be good or great, but to be the _best._ And now, Clio was on the brink of everything she had ever strived for.

“Oh, I never asked,” Isabella said, sitting down on the side of Clio’s bed. “How did things go last night at the big Fortuna photo shoot? Get to meet any celebrities?”

“Ugh,” Clio said, a vivid image of Kyron’s simpering smile and his unzipped fly flashing in her mind. “Not exactly what I expected for my first real gig. I know you can’t tell me if your talent relations firm has ever worked with Kyron Collins before, but that guy? Total asshole.”

Isabella leaned in close to Clio. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but just between us…” Reaching up with her hand, she opened her mouth and stuck the tip of her finger inside, making a gagging sound. “I’ve definitely heard stories about Kyron Collins. Some of the parties he’s thrown… legendary for all the wrong reasons. But he’s got a good PR team, I hear, so they keep most of the really bad stuff out of the press.”

“Yeah, figures,” Clio said. After that night, she was determined to put the whole thing behind her. She may have seemed to some like a naïve bumpkin from the middle of nowhere, but she knew how the world worked. Or at least, enough to know that calling attention to what had happened would only cause her more headaches. Clio severely doubted she was the first poor fool that Kyron had worked his “magic” on.

“Well, sorry to hear it didn’t go well,” Isabella said, reaching over to give Clio a friendly pat on the shoulder. Her tone turned chipper. “You know, it sounds like you need to relax a little. Don’t know if you’ve gotten a chance to explore much of Vierraden yet, but there’s this wonderful little bar I like to go to sometimes. And turns out I don’t have anything booked for tonight, so I’m free if you’d like to come have some drinks.”

Clio nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great,” she said. Seeing something shift in her roommate’s expression, she realized what was coming next and winced. “You want to bring Lara too, don’t you?”

“Please, let’s just give it a try,” Isabella said. “Maybe if we get a few drinks in her, she’ll loosen up a little. She’s not normally as bad as she was yesterday, I promise. And now that you’re all moved in, maybe she’ll finally accept that Kyra is gone and that you’re here to stay.”

After taking a moment to consider, Clio reached out to return Isabella’s earlier gesture, resting her hand on her roommate’s smooth, tanned shoulder. “Alright, let’s do it. Can’t go any worse than yesterday, I suppose.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Clio gave herself a mental kick in the backside. God, she just loved tempting fate like that, didn’t she?

“I appreciate it,” Isabella said, placing her own hand on top of Clio’s and smiling gratefully. “I know how silly it probably seems, but I’m feeling more and more sure that that premonition I had was right. You really are going to the best roommate we could have asked for.”

The two of them stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, to the point where Clio was starting to feel a little awkward. Pulling her hand away, she cleared her throat to break the silence. “So, Kyra… she was the one who used to rent this room?”

Shifting a little, Isabella glanced down at the floor. “That’s right,” she said, looking reluctant to say more.

“So, what happened?” Clio asked. Truthfully, though, she had already formed a pretty good guess in her mind. Yesterday Isabella had mentioned that Lara really liked the last roommate. _Really_ liked, Clio remembered how Isabella had stressed that. Sounded like Lara had started seeing this Kyra woman as more than just a friendly face in the room next door. Kyra didn’t feel the same way, Clio guessed, and moved out rather than stay in an awkward situation. And now here was Clio, setting up her new life in the room where Lara’s “one that got away” used to be. It would explain a lot about Lara’s anger.

“Wow,” Clio thought to herself. “Imagine having that muscle-bound psycho making goo-goo eyes at you.” An image of Lara’s naked body from yesterday unconsciously entered her mind, and she resisted the urge to retch at the reminder. “Thanks a lot for that one, brain.”

As Isabella started to open her mouth, the door to Clio’s bedroom suddenly swung open. Both Clio and Isabella jumped as Lara barged into the room. Looking as fiercely annoyed as yesterday… but clothed this time at least. Thankfully.

“You all done packing away picture girl’s crap?” Lara sneered at Isabella, hands on her hips as she glanced around the room. Her dark brown eyes locked on one picture – a group shot of the entire Quaday family back in Huaca Brava, clustered together and smiling into the camera – and she bared her teeth in a silent grimace. As if the very sight of happy people to her was like flashing a holy symbol at a vampire.

“Lara, could you please knock?” Isabella gently chided her roommate. “How would you like it if we came into your room without asking?”

This brought a smirk to Lara’s face. “Yeah, like to see you try it,” she muttered. Something in her voice, however, sounded a little chastened. “Look, need to ask you two for a favor,” she said, her tone turning serious. “There’s this weirdo who keeps coming around the club, won’t leave me the fuck alone. Keep trying to get them to fuck off, but I’m starting to get some real stalker vibes. Possible they might have asked around and found out from someone where I live.” Her eyes went for a moment to Clio’s bedroom window, looking out onto the front lawn and the view out to the sea. “So, if you see anyone skulking around the house, looking like they’re spying on the place, come straight to me. Don’t talk to them, don’t play the hero and try to chase them off yourself. Just let me know, right away.”

“Oh, no,” Isabella gasped. “You think we should call the police?”

“No, no fucking cops. Talking to too many cops already these days,” Lara muttered under her breath, not elaborating any further. “Look, maybe it’s nothing, okay? Might be I’m getting freaked out for no reason. Just… like I said, tell me right away if you see anyone hanging around who looks like they don’t belong. I’ll take care of it from there.”

Clio gave Lara a nod. “You can count on me, Lara,” she cheerfully said. As troubling as the thought was of some pervy stalker hanging around her new home, she was quick to latch on to this opportunity for solidarity with her prickly roommate.

But Lara responded with a disgusted sound, one that was already becoming distressingly familiar to Clio. “That voice again, ugh,” Lara responded, crossing her arms around her stomach and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Maybe you should just text me instead, picture girl.”

Everyone stared at each other awkwardly, before Isabella finally spoke up. “Lara, I was just asking Clio if she wanted to go down to the Tower Inn for a drink tonight. Would you like to come with us?”

“Please say no, please say no,” Clio mentally attempted to command Lara, all while keeping a placid smile firmly planted on her face.

Lara gave a slight shrug. “Eh, I guess. Wouldn’t mind getting wasted after all the shit the world’s been handing me lately,” she said. “Hell, I’ll even pick up the tab, why the fuck not?“

“Great, this is going to be fun!” Isabella happily proclaimed. Clio couldn’t help but wonder what universe this woman had come from, where the definition of “fun” involved anything to do with Lara the Bitch Goddess. But she forced herself to be optimistic, hoping against hope that maybe Lara was the “giggly drunk” type. Not the “throw-things-at-people-who-annoy-her drunk.”

Standing up, Isabella sighed as she worked her hands through her long, curly blond tresses. “Whew, carrying around all those boxes got me a little sweaty. Think I might go take a quick shower. Unless you need help with anything else, Clio?”

Clio shook her head. “Think I’m all settled in. Thanks, though.”

Giving her one more beaming smile, Isabella slipped past Lara and headed out the door. Clio waited for Lara to follow after her, but was disturbed to realize that Lara wasn’t moving.

“So,” Lara finally said, eyes narrowed at Clio. “You’re really gonna stick around, huh.”

“That’s the plan, yeah,” Clio said, trying her best to stay sunny in the face of Lara’s seemingly constant simmering anger.

Lara hissed between clenched teeth. “Okay, well, guess we better work out this rent shit,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her tight black jeans to pull out her phone. “Landlord likes to get it all in one payment. Don’t ask me why, just his weird little thing. So how we usually handle it is everyone else sends the money to my account, and I send it on to him.”

Clio reached for her own phone, happy to be having a conversation with Lara for once that didn’t involve the tattooed woman hurling insults at her. “Sure, give me your account info and I can have the first month's payment sent over right away,” she said, making a mental note to save a record of the transaction. At this point, she wouldn’t be shocked if Lara tried to claim that the money was never sent, as part of some scheme to get Clio kicked out.

Just as she was pulling up her email box, however, Clio felt her phone start to vibrate in her hand. A notification from the video chat app that a call was coming in. “Sorry, let me just take this a second,” she told Lara, who said nothing but leaned against the wall of Clio’s bedroom.

Answering the incoming call, Clio grinned as she saw her mother and father, both of them pushed in close to each other to see Clio on their screen. “Hi, honey,” Eugenio said, waving at the phone. “We just called to make sure you had gotten moved in alright.”

Clio laughed. Of course, they were already checking up on her. “Yeah, everything went great,” she said. “Did you get those pictures I sent over of the house?”

“Yes, it’s so big,” Eugenio said. “This website you’re working for must be paying you a lot of money.”

“Oh, my sweet little Clio’s all grown up,” Her mother Alexa cooed. “We’re all so proud of you, baby.”

Clio felt herself flushing a little. “Aw, mom, don’t start crying,” she said. “You’re just going to get me going.”

Eugenio grinned on the other side of the screen. “We’ve got a little surprise for you,” he said. His hand reached forward, tapping something on the screen. After a moment, he frowned. “Wait, it didn’t do the thing.” He looked over at his wife. “Honey, what did I do wrong?”

“You need to check this box here first,” Alexa responded, pointing out something to Eugenio. “No, not there! You’ll disconnect them! Here, I’ll do it.”

Clio laughed as she watched her parents fiddle with the phone. After a few moments of confusion, another video chat window popped up, shoving Eugenio and Alexa off to the side.

“Hey, who’s that smart looking lady on my screen?” said Tobin, Clio’s older brother sitting on the couch in his small Aspen Plains home. “Nate, you recognize that big grown-up?”

The video shifted over, showing Tobin’s boyfriend Nate sitting next to him. “Tobin, I think that’s your sister Clio,” Nate said with a grin.

“That’s Clio?” Tobin asked in mock surprise. “The little brat who always used to steal all my toys and hide them in the jungle? No, that can’t be Clio.”

“Shut up, I only did that once!” Clio exclaimed into her phone, laughing at the memory. “And you always leave out the part where I did it because you tore the dress on my favorite doll and wouldn’t even apologize!”

Tobin gave an innocent look into his cellphone camera. “Who, me? No, you must be thinking about somebody else, big adult woman who claims to be my little sister,” he said. “Seriously, though… congratulations on the big new job, and the fancy new house. Maybe I’ll write a song to commemorate the occasion. Thinking something like ‘Lucky Lighthouse Lady,’ how does that sound?”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Clio said, feeling herself starting to get emotional already. And seeing another video window popping up, she knew that by the time this was over, she was going to be bawling like a little baby.

And speaking of little babies… the next window opened up on a bright-eyed, dark haired three-year-old, who waved at the camera. “Conglatarations, Auntie Clio!” said Willow Wright, who then turned to her side. “Did I say it right, Mommy?”

“Close enough, honey,” said a voice off-camera, the view of the expensive Sommerset Island home shifting to show Clio’s older sister Janie. “Hey, Clio,” Janie said. “Just joining in to congratulate you on the big move and new job.” She glanced to her side and sighed. “Was hoping that Dan and Chester would be here too, but you know those men. Always too busy with important business calls or beating some hard video game boss.”

Clio nodded, wiping at her face. “It’s okay,” she said, a quiver of emotion in her voice. “How are things down there? Glad to hear you dodged that tropical storm.”

“Yeah, one of the joys of living by the ocean you have to look forward to,” Janie observed, bouncing her young daughter on her lap as she spoke. “Hope that fancy new house of yours has a good storm cellar. Especially if OPT and all these other big companies keep wrecking the environment,” Janie cut herself off with a rueful chuckle. “Sorry, there I go on my soapbox again, when this is supposed to be your big moment. Great job, sis. Can’t wait to see your pictures all over the internet.”

Another prompt. The window opened to show the youngest of the Quaday clan, Matteo, sitting sullenly in his bedroom up the stairs from where Eugenio and Alexa were calling from. “Um, congratulations, I guess,” the teenager said, shifting around on the side of his bed. No doubt there was some TV show that Mom and Dad were forcing him to miss in order to be on this group call. “Hey, next time you come to visit, could you bring some of those Vierraden pastries? I hear those things are really good.”

“You got it,” Clio said. “How are things going at school?”

Matteo looked bored as he responded. “Fine, I guess. Dad keeps making me join all these clubs and stuff. I dunno, feels like a waste of time to me.”

Clio had to laugh, thinking about how frustrated her father must have been getting with the youngest of his children. Unlike Clio and the rest of her siblings, who had all found their “callings” relatively young and pursued them with that trademark Quaday passion, Matteo was your typical sullen teen. No real goal in life except sitting around and watching television, or hanging out with his other slacker friends at the local skate park. Clio was sure that he would find his path in life eventually, though. Despite his general laziness, Matteo was a pretty bright guy when he put his mind to it. Although Clio couldn’t help but wonder if part of her little brother’s aimlessness in life was Matteo resisting his father’s constant pressure to succeed at something.

“Well, keep trying,” she said to Matteo. “It’ll keep Dad off your back, at least.”

“Hey, I can hear you two, you know!” Eugenio said from his tiny window off on the side of the screen. “Did you sign up for that new debate club like I told you to, Matteo?”

Matteo groaned. “Yeah, Dad, I did,” he groused. Clio tried to imagine her little brother having a passionate debate about anything. It was like trying to imagine an elephant performing a ballet routine.

“Alright, well, this was really nice,” Tobin chimed in, grinning mischievously from his small video chat window. “Glad we were able to get everyone together on this call.”

“Yeah, congratulations, Clio,” Janie said, keeping her poker face firmly in place. “Hope you’ll let us come by and visit soon!”

Clio stared at the screen with a smirk. “Ha, ha, very funny,” she said. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Alexa said, doing her best to sound innocent. “Oh, that’s right. Honey, you should tell her.”

Eugenio was many things, but an actor he was not. “Sorry, Clio, but things are really busy for him right now,” her father unconvincingly consoled Clio, all while his hand moved slyly across the phone screen. “He _really_ wanted to join in on this, but I’m afraid he just… couldn’t…” He looked over at Alexa. “What do I…” he whispered.

“That one there,” Alexa prompted him.

One more video notification popped up. Clio bit her lip, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold back her tears once she saw him. Steeling herself, she hit the screen.

“Hey, little sis,” Amedeo said, Clio's twin brother smiling warmly as he came into view.

Clio half-laughed, half-sobbed when she saw him. “Hey, little bro,” she responded.

It had started as an argument the two of them had had since both of them had learned how to talk. Both of them claiming to be the “older” of the twins, despite both Eugenio and Alexa refusing to ever reveal which one had technically been born first. Each of them trying to place the “younger” status on the other twin, as a way to claim superiority. As they got older and less prone to squabbling, it became her and Amedeo’s nicknames for each other.

“Well, looks like we made it,” Amedeo said. “Hard to believe… you starting with that cheap plastic camera, and me with my building blocks. Come a long way since then, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” Clio said, sniffling a little. “This whole thing was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Amedeo responded with a guilty smile. “Figured it’s been a while since I made my little sister cry,” he said. “Of course, it’s a lot harder to pull that off these days. Back then all I had to do was call you ‘butt-breath.’”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Clio said, brushing away her tears. “This was so sweet of you. But now you know we’re going to have to do the same for you when you make your big move.”

Amedeo nodded, looking around at his current surroundings: the small apartment of a college friend whom he’d been crashing with since graduating. “Just a few more days now,” he said. “I managed to get a pretty good place on the west side of Chapel City. It’s a little pricey, but with what Franklin-Price is paying me, I should be able to swing it.”

Clio nodded. Her twin brother, ever the tech head, had gone to Rutherford to study mechanical engineering. Part of her had been disappointed that the two of them didn’t end up attending the same university together, but Ethridge and Rutherford were close enough that they hadn’t even needed SLEGWIT to be able to meet up frequently over the last four years. And after graduating with honors from one of the most acclaimed technical colleges on the Network, Amedeo had had his pick of jobs. “Network’s getting bigger every day, little sis,” Amedeo had told her while revealing his choice to work for one of the major construction firms – Franklin-Price – and help with redesigning and improving their equipment. Of course, she had been the first one he told. “Going to need people like me around to build the tools to make it grow even faster.”

Back in the present, Clio did her best to compose herself. “Well, if you need any help getting moved in, let me know,” she promised her brother.

“Right, sure, with those skinny little arms of yours?” Amedeo teased her. “If I need to move, like, a piece of paper or something, you’ll be the first one I call.”

Clio widened her eyes. “Oh, oh, Mr. Big Tough Guy over here! You want me to tell the story again about how I had to protect you from those bullies back in fourth grade?” she tauntingly asked him.

Amedeo shook his head. “Protect? Nah, I just needed my twin sister for backup. A few too many of them for me to take on by myself, that was all.”

“Sure, little bro, sure,” Clio said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, hold on a sec,” Amedeo said, looking at something on his phone. “Hmm, what’s this button do right here?”

As Clio watched, the windows containing her other family members turned slightly transparent and were surrounded by a red border, indicating they were muted. Once he was sure no one else could hear, Amedeo’s expression turned serious. “So… how are things _really_ going with you, little sis? You talked to Jake at all?”

Clio shook her head sadly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “We both said we’d stay in touch, still be friends. But looks like neither of us were all that serious about that promise.”

“Hey, it happens,” Amedeo said. “People change, end up going different ways in life. Still, I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you two. You ever want to talk about it…”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Clio said. “I think I’m over it at this point. Time for both of us to move on and look for new experiences.” Shaking off the melancholy memories of her failed relationship, she gave her brother a smile. “What about you, little bro? Any ladies in your life at the moment?”

“Ugh, are you kidding?” Amedeo said. “You remember how busy I was this past year? Between final exams and the big senior project, I barely found the time to eat, much less date.”

“Well, now you’re all done, and have that shiny new diploma to show off. I hear the ladies love a man with a big… degree,” Clio said encouragingly. “You just let me know, and I can start scoping for any single girls over at Midpoint to set my little bro up with.”

Amedeo stared up at the ceiling. “Oh, please, no! I still have nightmares about the last time you told me you found the ‘perfect girl’ for me.”

“Oh, she wasn’t that bad,” Clio protested. “So what if she was a little… free-spirited?”

“She got drunk and passed out right in the middle of the bar!” Amedeo exclaimed. “On our first date! I had to drag her all the way out of the street and basically toss her through the SLEGWIT.” He held up a hand. “Forget it, little sis. While I appreciate you looking out for me, I’ll handle my own dating prospects from now on.“

“You’re just too picky,” Clio said. “But fine, fine. I’ll let you handle the quest to give Mom more grandkids to dote on by yourself.”

“Don’t remind me,” Amedeo said. “It isn’t just gonna be me, you know. She’s going to be sending us both _so_ many pictures of Willow, like, ‘Isn’t she the cutest thing? She’s got Janie’s eyes!’”

Amedeo looked at his phone screen, and their confused parents and siblings talking and not being heard. “And speaking of Mom… I suppose that’s enough private twin chat for now,” he said. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”

Clio tried not to look disappointed. She honestly could have talked to Amedeo for hours. But he was right. They couldn’t force the rest of the Quaday family to spend that long trying to read their lips. “Sure, I’ll give you a call after work.”

“And hey, once I get this move handled and I’m all settled in, I’m definitely going to stop by for a visit,” her twin brother promised her. “Really looking forward to going up and getting a look at the view from up in that old lighthouse.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Clio said, then remembered the one negative aspect of her living situation. “Although, give me some warning before you show up. I might need to talk to…”

She turned to her right, and jumped. Throughout the whole call, she had forgotten about Lara. Part of her had assumed that her testy roommate would have cleared out after it was obvious that Clio was on a personal call. But no… Lara was still leaning against the wall, watching Clio chat with her family with a blank expression.

Turning back to her phone, Clio saw that Amedeo had unmuted her other family members. “Can you hear us now, Clio?” Alexa was asking, while Clio’s brothers and sisters were asking similar questions. She looked over at Eugenio. “Honey, did you break it again?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you now. Thank you guys so much for this,” Clio said, feeling extremely self-conscious now that she knew she was being watched by her grumpy roommate. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a few things to take care of here. I’ll talk to you all later, okay?”

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Tobin said. “But if you need to stop by and borrow anything for your new place, you know we’re just a quick portal jump away.”

An odd look came to Janie’s face. “Right, I have… someone coming by in a bit, anyway. Congratulations again, Clio!”

“Okay, bye,” Matteo muttered, still looking bored. “Don’t forget about those pastries,” he added before shutting off his connection.

“Bye, bye, my sweet little angel,” Alexa cooed, causing Clio to blush even more. “Good luck at your new job!”

“Quadays don’t need luck, honey,” Eugenio corrected his wife. “They have pure talent.” He nodded through the camera at Clio. “We’re all proud of you. Go out there and show them all what you’re made of.”

One by one, the video feeds shut off, until only Amedeo was left. “You got this, little sis,” he said, pumping a fist in the air. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, little bro,” Clio said, waving into the camera with a tearful smile as his video feed cut out. She paused to compose herself, before turning to look at Lara. “Sorry, that was… well, it’s family. You know how it is.”

Lara narrowed her eyes. “Family, right…” she muttered. “Fucking assholes.”

And before Clio could say another word, Lara walked out of the bedroom door. The force of her slamming it after her rattled all of the furniture in Clio’s bedroom, hard enough to knock over several of her framed photos.

“Jeez,” Clio thought, staring at the shut door, “Tonight’s going to be a _real_ fun time.”


	5. Gyokuro

Preparation. The key to success in all things. Sometimes, even the key to survival. Physical, mental, and environmental factors might come into play. But in the end… preparation, always.

Every morning, Nadine Cutler followed the same routine. Sliding out of her sheets and putting on her black velvet robe and matching slippers, she stepped through her bedroom door out onto the balcony of her two-story Chapel City apartment. A moment to admire the view of the rising sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and then down the curving metal stairs to her kitchen.

Running water into her tea kettle, she set a burner on high and placed the kettle squarely in the center of the glowing circular outline. Then, while waiting for the water to come to a boil, she retrieved the necessary tools.

* * *

There was a blinking light on the laptop sitting on her dining table. Nadine sat down, swiping her thumb on the biometric scanner. The screen prompted for a password. It was programmed to accept two, one of which would immediately trigger a hidden container of hydrochloric acid inside of the computer, frying its hard drive and rendering it completely unable to be read. Nadine typed in the second password, the one that allowed her access to the main desktop.

Someone was requesting a video chat. There were only a handful of individuals who had the number to contact her in this fashion. People who had earned that trust the hard way. Nadine hit enter, opening up the video window.

The person she saw then was a stranger to her. A middle-aged woman, short black hair, dressed professional in a blue-green suit jacket. Nadine felt her muscles tense. In her mind, a gloved hand with thumb and pinky extended. Moving from the side of her head, twisting down and ending horizontal in front of her chest: “HANG-UP.”

On the screen, the unknown woman was typing. The words appeared one-by-one at the bottom of the chat window.

**Good morning. Is it sunny where you are right now?**

Nadine frowned. An image of a heavy-set, balding man in her mind, along with a finger wagging back and forth. Confused, she typed back.

_**Very sunny. Think I might go to the beach later.** _

**Sounds like fun. Be sure to wear lots of sunscreen.**

Whoever this stranger was, she knew the code phrases. If she hadn’t, Nadine would have immediately disconnected the call, and taken steps to remove any record of the number completely from her computer. But something still seemed off. She typed quickly, the greeting procedure out of the way.

_**Where’s Keenan?** _

A moment of pause, as the woman entered her response. Nadine stared at the words that appeared for a good amount of time.

**Howard Keenan is dead. I will be your contact with Mr. Ariano going forward.**

* * *

The important thing about this kind of tea, and the big mistake a lot of novices made, was assuming it was like most other teas, and using boiling water in preparing it. Denying themselves an exquisitely sweet taste, all due to a lack of preparation.

Her tea set laid out in front of her on the table, Nadine would retrieve the kettle from the burner. Slowly she poured a small amount of the steaming liquid into the designated cooling bowl. Then, she transferred the water from the cooling bowl into one of her small teacups, white with ornate blue designs, and then back into the cooling bowl again. Into the teacup, and then once more into the bowl. Back and forth carefully, being sure not to spill a drop. Each transfer between receptacles reducing the temperature of the water down to the appropriate level. Too hot, and the final result would be bitter. Too cool, and the flavor would not properly saturate the water, leaving the final result tasting bland.

Once the water was just right, it was time to bring out the tea.

* * *

Recovering from her shock, Nadine typed a quick response.

_**What happened?** _

**This is not your concern. The situation is being dealt with. For now, we have a delivery for you to make. Are you available?**

Nadine inhaled, exhaled through her nose. Time to go to work. She typed back.

_**I am. Who will I be delivering to?** _

**Ricardo Olivares.**

So, Keenan _had_ been murdered. And Gaultier had been involved, if her next target was any indication. Looked as if Ariano was returning the favor.

_**What sort of timeframe were you looking for on delivery?** _

**We would like for the package to be delivered within the next 24 hours.**

Nadine’s hands froze over the keyboard. This woman couldn’t be serious. Taking out one of Gaultier’s top lieutenants in just 24 hours? If Gaultier did have Keenan killed, he had to know that retribution would be coming. Security around him and his most trusted people would be tight as a drum.

The woman must have seen the hesitation on Nadine’s face. She glowered into the camera as she typed again.

**If you are unable to complete the delivery, we will look into other options for this task.**

Nadine quickly began typing back.

_**The delivery will be handled in the specified timeframe. Will I be provided an itinerary?** _

**The necessary details have been left in the usual location. Half of your transportation costs have already been deposited to your account.**

_**Confirmation of the delivery will be posted upon completion.** _

Nadine hesitated, then added in another sentence.

_**Have you been made aware of my rules?** _

_The boat speeds across the water. A full moon. Tears spilling down my cheeks. In my mind, a man’s wrinkled hand is flat, patting downward twice._

**All the details have been taken care of. Is there anything else?**

An odd response to the question. But if Ariano trusted her to take over Keenan’s role, she was sure that this woman wouldn’t forget something as vital as her rules. She typed one last message.

_**Condolences to Mr. Ariano on his loss.** _

The woman gave a curt nod, and disconnected the call.

* * *

A few teaspoons of the dark green leaves, measured out carefully, were placed in the bottom of the ceramic teapot. Then, the water from the cooling bowl was poured over them. Placing the lid on top, Nadine would then close her eyes. Breathing deeply, she would feel the rhythm of her beating heart.

When she first started making this tea for herself, she used to set an alarm on her phone. A buzz on the table to let her know when the two-minute steeping time was up. But now, after years of following the same routine every day, she knew by instinct when her tea was ready.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Her heart throbbing lightly in her chest. Measuring the time with the rhythms of her own body.

And then, when the moment was right, opening her eyes. It was time to pour.

* * *

After getting showered and dressed – a black-sleeved turtleneck and dark-grey slacks – Nadine took a moment to look herself over in the mirror. Her finger traced the narrow path of the scar etched into her light brown skin, passing down across her right eyebrow and past her eye into the cheek below. Memories of searing pain, and fingers shaped into a V-sign slapping roughly against her forehead repeatedly. “STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.”

Frowning, she donned her usual pair of pitch-black sunglasses, partially obscuring the old wound. After a moment of running a comb through her straight, glossy black hair, she headed out of her bathroom and through her apartment to the exit. On her way out, she grabbed a dark red gym bag that was sitting by the front door.

In the lobby, Mike the doorman gave her a friendly smile. “Good morning, Miss Cutler,” his lips formed the words. “Heading out for some exercise?” he asked, gesturing to the bag in her hand.

Nadine nodded. Returned his smile and gave him a wave. She liked Mike. He didn’t talk when she wasn’t looking. It was the little courtesies.

Stepping out onto the curb, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Dialed in the appropriate coordinates and waited. It was nearly three minutes before the portal finally formed on the street in front of her. Mental image of flat hands with spread, leather-covered fingers waving horizontally: “TRAFFIC.” One of the hazards of living in the big city, she supposed. This time of day, even with thousands of those little platforms buzzing around Chapel City, it took some time for one of them to be available for use.

She stepped through the teleporter, and was immediately hit with a blast of ungodly humidity. She grimaced as she felt the warm sun beating down on her, stepping through the swirling portal onto a sidewalk in Falcon Mesa. She could feel her skin underneath her thick turtleneck already getting damp. This place was miserable, but that was ideal for her. Not a lot of people spent time here by choice, and the people who lived here weren’t the types to pay too much attention to her activities.

Looking up at the plain brick building in front of her, she saw that several letters had burnt out on the buzzing neon sign, “GetFit 24/7,” leaving just a few letters glowing to spell out “G it.” Inside, a handful of people mindlessly trudged away on treadmills, trying their best to overcome their genetics. Stepping through the glass doors, Nadine flashed a card at the gum-chewing bimbo at the front desk, who gave her a nod as she passed.

The locker rooms were in the back, down a narrow, poorly-lit hallway. Stepping through the door marked “LADIES,” Nadine glanced around for anyone else before heading down the row of metal lockers. Finding number 627, she quickly dialed in the combination on the thick and curiously-expensive looking lock holding it shut.

Inside, she found what she expected: a gym bag that matched the one she had been carrying. Good, Keenan’s replacement knew the procedure. In the space of a few seconds, she swapped out the bag she had brought with the one that was stowed away. Locker door shut, she was on her way out.

As she stepped out into the hallway, she caught sight of a woman heading in the other direction. A blob of a human being, her prodigious midsection was spilling out over her too-tight, too-revealing, too-everything workout gear. Nadine gave her only the briefest glance as the two passed each other. After a few steps, however, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“…supposed to be in the _ladies’_ locker room?” was the end of the sentence that Nadine caught as she turned around. She saw the woman’s squinty pig eyes shoot a glance downward, staring between Nadine’s legs for a moment, as if the answer to her question was somewhere in that direction.

Nadine cupped her free hand over one of her ears, shaking her head. Then, pausing to put down her bag for a moment, she began rapidly moving her hands. A friendly smile on her face, she thanked the woman for her concern, and wished her a pleasant day.

The other woman watched Nadine’s swift gestures for a moment, confused, and then shook her head. The word “pervert” formed on her lips as she walked away. Once the woman’s back was turned, Nadine delivered one more sign – one that even this ignorant cow would understand if she had seen it, involving one extended finger – before grabbing her bag and heading back out to the street.

Another wait of several minutes for a SLEGWIT back to the city. Once back in the relatively mild temperatures of Chapel City, Nadine stepped into the lobby of her apartment building. Behind his desk, Mike gave her a pleasantly confused look. “Done already?” he asked her.

Reaching forward, Nadine mimed attempting to twist a doorknob. Shook her head and shrugged in resignation. Mike gave her a nod and returned to watching the security cameras. Another reason Nadine liked Mike: he didn’t ask too many questions. One and done, that was Mike.

Back up in her apartment, Nadine set the bag down on the glass table in front of her living room couch. Unzipping and opening it, she found a set of random gym clothes. Digging underneath the garments, her fingers found thick paper. She retrieved the folder inside, opening it to find a series of documents. First, a picture of the target, obviously taken surreptitiously outside of Club Crimson. Not that Nadine needed it: she had had a handful of meetings with Ricardo Olivares in the past. Just as she had with Keenan and his current replacement. A shame… Olivares seemed like a nice enough guy. But she didn’t take sides. If Gaultier had gotten to her first, maybe Nadine would be taking out the mysterious new Ariano associate instead.

As she considered the picture of her next target, she thought back to her dealings with the Gaultier syndicate. He had given her one of her first jobs, after all, so she couldn’t help but feel a little sentimental. Even if that first job

_She’s looking out of the window. She sees me. Pull the trigger. She hits the floor. And just before I pull my eye away from the scope…_

wasn’t exactly one she wanted to remember. In those early years, Gaultier had given her a lot of business. Although the powerful crime lord handled most of the bloodier jobs himself, there were a few targets who required a little more finesse. And Nadine Cutler was nothing if not reliable.

But it had been quite a few years now since Gaultier’s people had contacted her. Part of her couldn’t help but feel a bit offended. Had Gaultier found someone else? Whoever it was that took out Keenan, perhaps? Nothing hurt worse than having a steady relationship end, and find out that they were with someone new. Well, Gaultier’s loss. Maybe if he’d kept in touch, his top lieutenant wouldn’t be about to meet his maker.

After the photo of Olivares, Nadine found a set of papers, the first sheet with a single set of numbers written in computer-generated text. SLEGWIT coordinates to Olivares’s house, obviously. Bringing the workup over to her dining room table, Nadine unlocked her laptop and opened up an incognito web browser. Entering the URL for OPTNav, she typed in the coordinates, and watched as the satellite map of the planet zoomed down rapidly. As Nadine saw the direction it was heading, images of sandy shores and swaying palm trees filled her mind. Sommerset Beach. Not surprising that he would have a house there.

Nadine stared at the overhead view of the massive beachside mansion. Several different possibilities. But she’d have to get a closer look at the place before she made the final call.

Flipping to the next page from the workup folder, Nadine saw a series of dates and times, each noted with “IN” or “OUT.” Good. They’d already handled the surveillance work for her. Otherwise, handling this job in 24 hours would have been next to impossible. There was almost two weeks of data here, and from the patterns, it looked as if Olivares was home most often between the hours of 11:30 pm and 9:00 am. Perfect, she should be able to make her move in the dead of night.

The next pages were photocopied blueprints of Olivares’s house. Nadine smiled. Lots of windows. Plenty of different angles of attack. Looked like the master bedroom had windows on two sides: one facing the coastline, the other side looking out to the ocean. Probably be the best place to try and catch him. Potential to take a shot by land or by sea.

Just as she moved to stand up, her eye caught something odd on the papers. The uppermost floor of the mansion included a rooftop pool. Not exactly unusual for such an expensive estate, but something in tiny text on the blueprint gave her pause. In her mind, two gloved index fingers, bent at the first knuckle, tapping against each other twice. Followed by a hand coming down from her forehead, forming a letter Y with thumb and pinky.

It didn’t matter. She had work to do.

Mike looked up as she stepped off the elevator. “Giving the gym another try?” he asked with a grin.

Nadine shook her head. Then moved her hand and upper arm in a swimming, up and down motion, mouthing the word “boat.”

“Smooth sailing,” Mike said in response.

* * *

The pour was another point in the process where many people made a critical error.

When serving the tea to multiple people, it was customary to line the cups up and, going down the line, pour a small amount into each cup. A novice might simply fill one cup and move on to the next, but this would cause the first cup to only receive a small amount of the tea’s flavor. Moving between the cups and filling each one gradually, giving each of your guests an equal amount of both the weaker and stronger pours, was the best way to ensure everyone received the same great tasting tea.

Of course, that wasn’t really a concern for Nadine. It had been a very long time since she’d served this tea to a group larger than one. These days, she simply emptied the tea pot directly into her cup, making sure to pour out every last drop.

Then came the best part: the drinking.

* * *

The boat, one of several she owned, was a 50-foot fishing yacht. Not exactly the speediest vehicle on the sea, but speed wasn’t what she was looking for. Not in these initial planning phases.

Firing up the engine, she steered the vehicle away from the slip. The Sommerset Beach Marina was fairly quiet this time of day, so she had little trouble maneuvering her vessel out into the open water. Once she was a good distance away from the shoreline, she directed her boat south. After ten minutes or so of sailing, the small shops and tourist traps of the marina area on her port side gave way to expensive beachside mansions.

Easing the engine down, Nadine pulled out a pair of binoculars. She feigned scanning the entire horizon, looking for signs of any fish biting. But her attention was mainly focused on the large mansion just at the corner of the coast line.

Yes, just as she figured. In the distance, she could make out several speedboats cruising the waters around Olivares’s mansion. She couldn’t get a good look at the people driving the boats, but she doubted that they were a bunch of spoiled children of privilege joyriding around the Sommerset coast. She brought her engine to a stop, pressing a button on the yacht’s control console to lower the anchor. Didn’t want to get any closer. While she doubted Gaultier’s men would open fire at the first sight of her, she wasn’t going to take any chances getting close enough to raise their suspicions.

And unfortunately, this meant that a shot from the water was out of the question. If she had to guess, she would have put her current distance at around 1,500 meters from Olivares’s bedroom window. While she had hit a few shots at this range before, that was always on land. With so many other factors to take into consideration when trying to line up a shot from more than a mile out, the unpredictable bobbing of the ocean underneath her just left too many things to chance. So, a land approach it was.

Stepping down from the upper level onto the back deck of the yacht, Nadine retrieved a fishing pole from a nearby rack. She wound it back, casting out the line and letting it sink into the sea. No bait, as she wasn’t actually trying to catch a thing. Just a good cover if someone came snooping around. Locking the pole into a holder fastened to the side of the boat, Nadine got to work.

She entered the cabin of the boat, turning to her right to find a thick, locked steel safe. A quick tap of the combination, and Nadine retrieved the contents. Back out on the deck, Nadine turned on the tablet computer she had pulled out. Once it was on, and had established a connection, the object in her other hand soon began vibrating.

Sitting down cross-legged on the deck, Nadine set the buzzing UAV down in front of her. It was a top-of-the-line model, with a massive maximum range and altitude. It did have a manual-control remote, but Nadine had this drone specially modified to be directed via the tablet app she was currently configuring. Tapping on the screen and dialing in an altitude of 8,000 feet – most drones had a software limit far below that, but Nadine had long since had that removed – she watched as the small UAV’s rotors began spinning wildly, the tiny flyer shooting up into the air. A few minutes later, it was little more than a small dot in the sky. No doubt Olivares’s protectors were much more focused on the ground and sea than on the air, so Nadine was certain they wouldn’t notice the small speck in the sky.

She pressed a button on the tablet, and the screen was filled with a high-resolution video of the rolling waves of the ocean. And right in the middle, a small dot where her boat was currently anchored. Nadine felt a brief urge to wave up at the long-range camera attached to the bottom of the drone. In her head, a gloved finger, the tip pressed against her chin, the hand twisting around: “SERIOUS.”

On the tablet, she pressed the tip of her finger against a small cross-shaped section of the screen. Slowly, she navigated the drone through the air, moving it across the upper atmosphere until it was in place. After a few moments, an aerial view of Olivares’s mansion and the surrounding grounds filled the screen.

Nadine pressed another button, labelled “IR SENSOR.” Immediately the screen lit up in reds, yellows, and purples. After a minute or so, the processer in the tablet filtered out the ambient heat signatures of the sun-drenched surrounding area, isolating any living creatures moving in the range of the powerful drone camera. Skimming her attention over the smaller dots – various wildlife roaming the area – she isolated the larger blobs of color. In her head, gloved fingers counting. “1… 2… 3…” Eventually she came up with ten, scattered around the grounds and moving in slow, unpredictable patterns. And just as many inside the house, from the looks of things. Add in the guys in the boats, and it was quite a sizable security force. With how much of a valued member of the Gaultier family Olivares was, Nadine had little doubt that they would be highly-trained and extremely dangerous.

If she had had more time to prepare for this, she could have come up with a plan for a frontal assault. Some sort of distraction to lure the men out of position, allowing her to sneak through their perimeter and gain access to the mansion. But even then, she’d have the guards on the inside to evade.

No, with these parameters, it looked as if a long-range shot was her only option. She directed the drone northward, following the path of a theoretical bullet from the bedroom windows facing the land. The area around Olivares’s house was green and hilly, with many potential elevated positions for her to try and hit a shot. Hitting another button, she directed her tablet to access topographical data for the area. Soon, elevation markings outlined the various hills and valleys in the surrounding areas. Nadine saw several spots where the height and sight-line was just right, only to see one of the patrolling guards move dangerously close to the area. No good. It was going to take her time to calculate her shot, a good five to ten minutes at minimum. She couldn’t have any unwelcome visitors during that time.

Then, she spotted it. Looked to be around 1,000 meters from the target. Tricky, but entirely doable with the right calculations. It was a fairly elevated hill, near a dense grouping of palm trees. Her approach would be easy, moving through the thick forest under the cover of night. She sat and watched for a few minutes, waiting to see if any of the patrolling guards made their way near. She gritted her teeth as one of the infrared blobs appeared on the edge of her camera view, but then breathed out when it began moving away. It would work. As long as she was quiet, she should have enough of a window to take her shot from there.

She needed to take a closer look. It was a risk, but with 24 hours to work with, Nadine only had one chance to do her reconnaissance before finalizing her plan. Tapping on the potential sniper nest, she began slowly bringing the altitude down on the drone. For as much power as the UAV’s motors had, it was also extremely quiet, and there was little chance that anyone in the surrounding area would hear the approaching drone unless they were only a few feet away. After a few minutes of descent, the altitude now down to just a few feet, she switched to the drone’s front camera. Pivoting the flying drone around 180 degrees, she got a good look at the sightlines to the mansion’s bedroom window.

And it was perfect. Again, the distance was tricky, but Nadine had made these sorts of shots before. Of course, the kind of precision necessary to hit a headshot would be nearly impossible at this range. So, something high-caliber, that would do enough damage wherever the bullet hit to ensure a lethal shot. And to make sure such a large round travelled far enough, she’d need something with a lot of power behind it. Definitely something better than any of the weapons she had on hand at the moment.

Directing the drone back up to a high altitude, she scanned the area near her chosen sniper spot for the nearest SLEGWIT-accessible road. Somewhere out of the way, where nobody would be likely to see her arrival. She found an ideal section of road about a half mile away from her chosen sniper position, and tapped the spot with her finger. After a moment of computation, the tablet spat out the necessary SLEGWIT coordinates for her arrival. She committed them to memory, then hit the button with the home icon.

It would take a few minutes for the drone to return. While she waited, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Finding the entry for Sofia, she sent a short message.

Within a few seconds, the response came.

Nadine put the phone back in her pocket, just as the drone touched down in front of her.

Time to go shopping.

* * *

While the procedure for preparing this tea was quite precise and stringent, once it was ready there were no real guidelines for how to drink it.

Still, just as with the specific steps she took to make the tea, Nadine had her own strict routine when it came to consuming it.

She had a special stool just for this purpose. A small, miniature wooden bench, set two feet away from one of the windows looking out onto Chapel City. Her teacup balanced carefully on a saucer, Nadine would lower herself down on her knees, tucking her slipper-covered feet under the wooden stool before resting her backside against the smooth, lacquered seat.

Before she would allow herself a drink, she would force herself to relax. Breathe in deeply through the nose, then out through the mouth. Several times, slowly, until she felt her mind go completely blank. Only then would she take the first sip.

It was difficult sometimes. For many years, the smell of the warm beverage would bring her back to darker times. Shouted words that she could not hear. The hot flare of pain on her cheek. And a bridge high above the water, only one step away from her making that last decision. Just before that rough hand clapped down over her shoulder, and changed the course of her life forever.

But if there was one good thing she remembered from those times, it was the tea. The smell and taste of it brought back other memories as well. Memories of a warm smile. Patient hands forming the words slowly. Over and over again, never getting impatient as she learned to copy the motions. Those images were on her mind as she closed her eyes, letting the morning sun gently warm her dark skin.

Even still, before she drank, she forced herself to push even those pleasant images from her brain. Not until her mind was completely empty did she take the first sip. Just the smallest of tastes, letting the warm, sweet flavor splash against her tongue. Two more deep breaths, then another sip. Following this procedure over and over again, her mind remaining blank the entire time, until the cup was empty.

Then, her eyes would open, and she was ready to begin her day.

* * *

There were certainly a lot of interesting destinations on the Network. The sunny climes of Sommerset Beach. The foggy mysteries of Malevanka. But of all of them, Nadine actually found Fairchance the most intriguing.

Like many cities, especially those on the Network, it had its class divides. But unlike other places, where urban sprawl and decay might gradually give way to suburban middle-class housing and eventually upper crust luxury, the lines of division in Fairchance might as well have been borders drawn on the map.

In the case of where she was now, the line on the map was a quite literal one. Nadine stepped out onto a sidewalk in east Fairchance, and immediately wrinkled her nose as the smell of old garbage and human feces slammed her right in the face. Up and down the street, she could see squat brick buildings with walls adorned with gang tags. Many of the residences were abandoned, with boarded up doors and windows, and even those that weren’t vacant looked like they should have been. A few miles down the way, among the tall trees, she would have found a wide array of trailer parks. In this part of town, muggings and meth were the primary means of making a living. A place where all the grandiose talk about the utopian paradise that was the Network rang hollow.

But just across the Elkhorn River to the west, the neighborhood of Wyndham Hills. Aside from a beachfront estate like her next target had, the place to live as a member of the Network’s wealthy elite was in Wyndham Hills. From where she was standing, she could see one of the bridges that spanned the river, and just make out the faintest hints of several of the gigantic residences.

It was a unique geography, and a stranger to the city would probably wonder why the upper crust of the Network would be willing to live so close to abject poverty. Of course, the answer was that the Fairchance PD had decided a long time ago to leave the East Side to its own devices. Unless they were specifically called in, the only dealings they had with the residents of the East Side were keeping a close eye on them if they ever crossed any of the bridges into areas they weren’t “suited for,” like Wyndham Hills and the North End. The North End, of course, being the trendy hipster district of Fairchance, dotted with art galleries, cafes, and thrift shops with the right selection of clothes that said “poor… but not _dirty_ poor.” And with the Elkhorn river taking a bend to the right and dividing the east side from the North End as well, Nadine was standing in what was almost an island of impoverishment.

It wasn’t the sort of place you wanted to wander around in casually. But in this case, Nadine didn’t have much choice: Sofia’s setup was deep in the east side projects, well past where SLEGWIT portals were able to travel. Luckily, Nadine had spent years working on her “don’t fuck with me” vibe, walking confidently down the cracked pavement sidewalks and staring from behind her pitch-black sunglasses at anybody who gave her a second look.

Plus, if anybody got cute, she had a little surprise for them tucked in her waistband.

She made her way down the familiar path, eventually finding herself at one of the larger “abandoned” buildings in the area. Heading to the back, she made her way carefully down the outdoor stairs to the basement entrance. Standing in front of the unusually sturdy-looking metal door, Nadine checked the message again, making sure she had the numbers correct.

Reaching up, she knocked once on the door. Twice. Four times in rapid succession. Then twice more.

A small panel on the metal door slid open, and narrowed eyes regarded her carefully. The panel slid shut, and after a moment to undo the bolts, the door was opened by a barrel-chested man. He said nothing, simply stepping aside to allow Nadine to enter.

Nadine walked into the small entry area, shoes scraping against the dirt floor, the whole place smelling of mildew and rot. Another beefy bodyguard opened a door on the other side of the room for her, and Nadine walked through.

Sitting behind a metal desk, Sofia Neun watched with her one working eye as Nadine stepped into her office. The other socket, long since vacated of its original occupant, held a plain white ball of glass, with the number “9” emblazoned in swirling black text. The wrinkled old woman, dressed in an old camo jacket, had her long grey hair tied in a twisting braid that fell down her right shoulder. She said nothing as Nadine approached, walking up to the opposite side of Sofia’s desk without sitting. Sofia’s remaining eye, pale blue and intense, watched as Nadine reached into a pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and sliding it across the desk.

Taking the offered paper with wrinkled, yellow-nailed fingers, Sofia brought it in close to her face, narrowing her eyes to read the specifications Nadine had listed. Nadine waited patiently as the arms dealer committed the information to memory, then reached into a drawer on her desk. Flicking open a lighter, Sofia set the paper alight, waiting for most of it to burn away before tossing what remained in a nearby metal trash can.

“Follow, yes,” Sofia said, rising slowly from her chair and grabbing a plain black walking stick, before moving around the desk to the office door. Nadine was behind her as the older woman signaled to one of her guards, who opened another door in the basement entry hall for his boss and Nadine.

The two of them were now in a small room, 4 x 5 feet at the most. At the other side of the room, an open doorway led to pitch blackness. There were only two features in this room: a large red button next to the entry to the darkened room, and a digital clock just above.

Nadine started to make her way across the room to the open door, but Sofia’s walking stick moved to block her path. She turned to see Sofia’s wrinkled lips forming the words. “Patience,” Sofia said. “Not the correct moment.”

Slowly shuffling over to the red button, Sofia squinted up at the digital clock. “11:24:43,” the numbers read. Sofia watched the blinking clock carefully as she raised her hand, resting her palm against the gleaming red surface of the button.

“11:24:44. 11:24:45. 11:24:46.”

Sofia roughly shoved the button inward. Through the doorway, Nadine could see the overhead lights flare to life, revealing a massive space on the other side. And, pointing directly through the doorway and not visible up to that point, a double-barrel shotgun resting on an elaborate stand, with a wire connected to the trigger running across the floor and through the wall where the button had been mounted.

“Thank you for waiting,” Sofia said with a thin smile, stepping through the doorway and around the shotgun trap. Nadine followed, staring around in undisguised awe at the racks of weaponry inside. It had been a long time since she had gotten her hardware from Sofia – the woman made premium weapons, and charged premium prices – and Nadine had forgotten just how much the elderly arms dealer had on hand. If there was any weapon that would let her pull off the Olivares job without a hitch, it was definitely somewhere in this room.

Nadine followed Sofia down the rows upon rows of weapons, making a mental wishlist for the next time she decided to splurge on a gift for herself. The smell of gun oil in the air filled her with a mental buzz, bringing back memories of so many jobs in the past.

Sofia led her down a particular row, lined with high-powered rifles hung on display. The old woman scanned the various armaments, Nadine’s specifications for the Olivares job in her mind as she chose an appropriate weapon. Finally, she extended her hand with the walking stick to Nadine, who took hold of it while Sofia reached up to pull down a long, dangerous looking piece of hardware.

“Two-six-one McNary SR,” Sofia ran down the specs as she showcased the weapon to Nadine. “Lethal power up to thirteen hundred meters. Easily collapsible and able to be concealed in a small briefcase. Should meet the requirements for your task quite well.”

Setting aside the weapon for a moment, Sofia crouched down to grab a small metal cylinder off a lower shelf. “Willmont brand scope. Fifty-six-millimeter objective lens, with twenty-five times zoom.” Placing the scope down next to the rifle, she retrieved a small box. “Hollow-point rounds, should cause massive tissue damage to target on impact. If you hit anywhere… target will die quickly.”

Nadine studied the rifle. One problem with firing at this range: she couldn’t afford to use any sort of silencer or flash suppressor. It would reduce the speed of the bullet too much to be a guaranteed lethal shot. Once she pulled the trigger, the sound and muzzle flash would make her position obvious. But if all went well, Nadine would only need to fire one shot to take down Olivares. In the confusion that followed, she was sure she would be able to make her escape before any of Gaultier’s men could reach her position.

Sofia picked the rifle back up and handed it to Nadine, who took it from the arms dealer while giving her back her walking stick. “Would you like to test it on the firing range?” Sofia offered.

Nadine shook her head, already expertly disassembling the rifle to stow it away. Sofia didn’t get to be the best in the business by providing goods of less than the highest quality. Nadine had faith that the weapon was well-maintained and calibrated properly. No need to waste time running the rifle through its paces. It would work as designed, and any error would be her own in the end.

Reaching down onto a lower shelf, Sofia helpfully retrieved and opened a metal briefcase, foam lining the inside and ready to accept the various rifle components and add-ons.

Once the rifle was safely stowed away and the case shut tight, Nadine held up a hand to Sofia, rubbing her thumb and fingers together with eyebrows raised. “Eight-hundred-fifty-five thousand should cover it, yes,” Sofia responded, making sure to carefully enunciate each number so that there would be no error in Nadine’s lip reading.

Pulling up her phone, Nadine submitted the requested amount. The money, routed through several accounts and converted into untraceable crypto-currency, would be in Sofia’s hands within the hour. She gave a nod to the arms dealer and headed for the exit, briefcase in tow. One of the well-muscled security guards opened the door for her on the way out.

Back outside, Nadine headed up the stairs and out to the backside of the building, pulling out her phone on the way. It was still early afternoon in the Sommerset Beach area. Plenty of time before she had to make her move on Olivares.

She felt an odd shiver come over her. Now that all of her methodical preparations were finished, it was only now that it occurred to her how strange this whole job was. Granted, this new Ariano associate – Nadine had never even gotten a name, just another oddity in the whole setup – knew all the correct procedures for contacting and employing her. And their prep work had been flawless, giving her everything she needed to plan the job properly. But the narrow time window… why such a hurry? It wasn’t like Olivares was about to leave town or anything. Granted, Ariano was a hot-headed man, prone to rash decisions on occasion. But Nadine had been called upon by Keenan to eliminate several of Ariano’s rivals before today, and never with this strict deadline.

Nadine was never scared before jobs. She had complete faith in her ability to carry out her assigned task properly and without complication. And, on those rare occasions when her careful preparations failed her, she knew that she would be able to extricate herself from the situation with a minimum of risk. Still… there was something about this job that gave her pause.

Shaking her head, Nadine took a moment to calm herself. Yes, it was an odd set of circumstances. But she had a plan. She had the proper weaponry. And as long as she took her time, calculated correctly, she would put a hole in Olivares and make her escape before anyone even knew what was happening. Right now, she needed to relax. Have a little fun before everything went down tonight.

And Nadine knew exactly who she wanted to have fun with.

Pulling up her contacts, Nadine headed into the section marked “I.” She quickly typed out a message.

After a minute or so, the answer came.

She frowned. This wouldn’t do. Typed her response.

Speaking to her in the universal language. After a few minutes, she got the desired response.

She certainly wouldn’t. Putting her phone away, Nadine started walking. Making her way back to the street where she could grab a SLEGWIT, drop off her new purchase at home, and get all dressed up for her big date tonight. Before the _other_ big date, that was.

As she turned a corner to move through a tight alleyway, she paused in her tracks. Three rough-looking customers were leaning against the buildings on either side, looking up at her approach. One of them was saying something, but he was too far away at the moment for Nadine to make out the words his lips were forming. From his general look and attitude, however, it was fairly obvious that he wasn’t wishing her a nice day.

Nadine took a step back as the three men moved slowly in her direction. Unfortunately, it appeared that her “don’t fuck with me” stare was failing her, as the man at the head of the group glared back at her, baring his rotted teeth in a confident leering smile. The other two men were close behind him, staring her down and looking like they were ready for a fight.

As he moved within five feet of her, the head of the group spoke again. “I said,” his lips formed the words, “’What’s in the case, bitch?’”

“Hand it over, and maybe you walk away from this,” said one of the other men, reaching to his waistband and pulling out a butterfly knife. He rapidly flicked the blade out with a flourish, Nadine arching an eyebrow. He must have practiced that move in the mirror so many times.

The third man brandished a length of pipe. “Don’t try to run,” he threatened. “You ain’t gonna get away from us, lady.”

Nadine severely doubted that. From their rotted teeth and skin dotted with sores, they were obviously hoping that whatever was in this case would feed their meth addiction for a few more days. If she did run, Nadine was sure she’d lose the emaciated addicts within a few minutes. Still, that was a few minutes more than what it would take to handle this situation in a more direct fashion. But did she really want to risk making that much of a commotion, just before a big job?

The head of the group moved in closer, enough so that Nadine could smell his rancid breath. “Oh, well, now,” he said, his face lighting up in amusement as he looked over his shoulder at one of his buddies. “This ain’t no lady, Dylan. This is one of those…”

Her hand was at her waistband in a flash, pulling out the small cylinder from its holster. With a downward flick of her wrist, the metal rod expanded into its full 26-inch length. Two rapid swings, one forehand, one backhand, and the man was down on the ground in a spray of blood. Before the other two men knew what was happening, Nadine charged forward at the one with the pipe. A quick swing down at his kneecap, and Nadine could almost feel the bone underneath shattering from her strike. The man’s mouth went wide with pain as he fell down on the alley floor, Nadine delivering another strike to his temple and knocking him out cold.

The third man with the knife, realizing his fancy tricks weren’t going to help him here, turned tail and ran. As she watched his retreating form, Nadine released the briefcase for a moment, and casually bent down to retrieve the pipe the other man had dropped. After a split second to gauge the distance, she hurled the pipe down the alleyway, striking the last man in the back and sending him face-first into the dirt.

Grabbing the briefcase, Nadine strode over to the last conscious man in the alleyway. Turning over on his back, he saw her coming and held up his hands. “Stop, wait!” she could see his lips forming the words. “He told us to…”

She wasn’t interested in his excuses. Nadine delivered one more strike with her baton, and the man fell silent. She glanced up and down the alleyway, looking for any late arrivals to the fight. Nobody in sight. She glanced upward, checking the windows of the two buildings forming the alleyway. No curious onlookers poking their heads out to call the police.

Still, Nadine felt like she was being watched. Probably shouldn’t hang around too much longer. Driving her baton into one of the brick walls to collapse it again, she stuck it back in its holster.

Just as she was about to walk away with her new purchase, she spotted something on the ground. A smirk on her face, she picked up the last man’s discarded knife. She gave it a few elaborate twirls to amuse herself, before swinging it shut and shoving it into her pocket.

Never know when an extra blade would come in handy.


	6. Wheedle

She was waiting by the big bronze globe outside of NPA headquarters. The massive sculpture was erected by the Valley Green city government – a show of civic pride in recognition of the Network Police Authority choosing the original Network city to build their offices – and Mark passed by it every single day on his way to work. The gleaming eyesore spun slowly, tiny NPA badges denoting each of the Network cities. They had just added one for Huaca Brava in the last year, only four years out of date.

Mark couldn’t imagine loathing that massive, gaudy monstrosity any more than he already did. But seeing who had been waiting there for him that morning might have finally pushed his annoyance over the edge.

“Detective McLoughlin!” Candice Friedman called out, phone in hand and ready to record. She was in her mid-thirties, but her eager, almost frantic nature made her seem much younger. It was that eagerness – along with her effusively disingenuous flattery and scandalously low-cut blouses – that had led to her being one of the top scoop-getters for Midpoint’s “hard news” section. Of course, both of them knew that her charms would have little effect on Mark, so she would no doubt resort to alternative tactics to get a quote out of him. And with everything else going on, Mark just wasn’t in the mood today.

He tried to ignore her, make his way quickly into NPA headquarters and get through security where she couldn’t follow. But Candice was moving to block his path. “Any comment on the death of Howard Keenan, detective?” she asked, phone up in his face.

Mark stopped in his tracks, staring at the eager Midpoint reporter with a stony glare. “Ms. Friedman, we’ve been over this,” he said. “If you have any questions regarding current NPA investigations, please get in touch with our public affairs office. They’d be happy to assist you.”

He started walking up the steps to the glass office doors, and was unsurprised to hear the click of her pumps following quickly behind him. “Happy to stonewall me, you mean,” Candice said. “Come on, I’ve got witnesses in Chapel City that spotted you and Detective Maxwell down at Keenan’s office yesterday.”

“Why don’t you ask Detective Maxwell, then?” Mark said, not looking at Candice as he walked. “I’m sure she’d be happy to leak more police business in return for another glowing profile piece.”

Candice shook her head. “I already tried before. She just ignored me.”

This actually made Mark stop for a moment. “Today? She’s already here?” he asked, surprised.

The reporter gave him a nod. “She didn’t even say a word to me, can you believe that? Just humming to herself and ignoring me completely.” Narrowing her eyes, she jabbed her phone in Mark’s direction. “You folks don’t start supporting the free press soon, you’re going to regret it when some scumbag files a police brutality lawsuit, and I don’t feel like digging up dirt on the guy like I did the last time.” She switched it up, putting on her best cloying smile. “Come on, haven’t I always played fair with you guys? Just a little something, off the record. Nobody will know it was you, I swear.”

Mark let out a weary sigh. He hated this stuff. All the political games that came with being a cop. He remembered thinking it would all go away when he moved up from Chapel City to the NPA, but it had only gotten worse. But as much as he hated it, he knew that it was better to feed the press a morsel, if it meant keeping them off the NPA’s back while they did their jobs.

“Listen, Ms. Friedman,” Mark said, “even if I wanted to tell you something about the case, on or off the record… it’s been less than 24 hours. We’re still conducting initial investigations, and it could be days before we have something concrete.”

“Word on the street is that this could be the first shot fired in a war between the Gaultier and Ariano syndicates,” Candice said, phone up between her and Mark. “Is the NPA worried about potential retaliation killings?”

“I’m working _this_ case, Ms. Friedman. Anything beyond the death of Howard Keenan is outside the scope of my investigation.”

“But you have to admit that Gaultier and his people are prime suspects in this murder, right?” Candice asked.

Mark thought back to his strange meeting with the enigmatic crime lord in the back of his limo, the charismatic man professing his innocence. “As of now,” he said, putting the memory aside, “all indications are that this was a suicide. If new evidence should emerge that changes that assumption, we will consider any possible suspects implicated by that evidence.”

He started to pivot away, before Candice spoke up again. “Any response to the rumor that your superiors are considering calling in the fed-necks?”

Why did everyone have to call them that? “I have no comment one way or the other regarding the involvement of the CCI in this matter,” Mark said. “At this point, Ms. Friedman, you probably know as much as I or my partner do regarding this case. If you have any other questions, the public affairs contact information is on our website.”

He made a move to leave, Candice sighing in frustration but obviously expecting no further quotes from Mark. Hesitating for a moment, Mark turned back to the reporter. “Marielle is seriously already here?”

Candice nodded, turning off her voice recording app and sticking her phone away huffily. “When you see her, a friendly reminder that she still owes me for puking all over my pinstripe blazer,” she said. Her voice took on a threatening tone. “If Detective Maxwell doesn’t start giving me some good tips soon, she’s going to see that dry-cleaning bill in her inbox.”

Mark fought the urge to smile at the memory of that particular morning, as Candice turned and sashayed away. One of the few times where Marielle’s drinking habits had led to something positive.

Pushing his way through the swinging glass doors, Mark stepped into the lobby of the Network Police Authority headquarters. Walking across the elaborate seal emblazoned on the marble floors, he flashed his badge to the security in the front, walking around the metal detectors to the band of elevators at the opposite side of the lobby.

“Ah, Detective McLoughlin,” said a voice to Mark’s right as he hit the elevator button. He turned and went rigid, seeing the genial smile and well-trimmed mustache of Darryl Albanese. The deputy chief of police clucked his tongue, sympathy in his small, deep-set eyes. “Heard they’ve got you going after Gaultier now,” he said, clapping a meaty hand on Mark’s shoulder and giving it two perfunctory pats.

“It’s possible, sir,” Mark said, rubbing the back of his neck. Word sure did spread fast around the department, it seemed. “Detective Maxwell and I have just started working the Keenan case, and I…”

“Ah, and how is Marielle?” Albanese interrupted. “Been a while since I’ve had the privilege of that bright young thing working under my command.”

There were a lot of words that Mark could think of to describe his partner, but “bright” and “young” were definitely not among them. If there was one thing she _was_ talented at, however, it was schmoozing with her superior officers. A sick part of Mark’s mind wondered just what sorts of things Marielle did under Albanese’s “command” back when he was her captain. And if that’s why she managed to keep her detective badge long past when her conduct should have gotten her drummed out of the department. But those were all just salacious rumors, and Mark wasn’t interested in indulging.

“She’s fine,” Mark said, as the elevator arrived and the two of them stepped inside. Mark hit the button for the fifth floor, while Albanese was riding to the chief’s office all the way at the top of the building.

Albanese shook his head. “Ambrose Gaultier… can’t believe that devious Malevankan fucker is still running loose,” he said, speaking freely in the privacy of the elevator. “No idea why Xing even added that worthless node to the Network. Whole city is packed full of criminals, and Gaultier’s the filthiest rat of the bunch. Our jobs would be a whole lot easier if the whole place was bombed off the face of the planet.”

Mark nodded, putting considerable effort into keeping his expression neutral. He hated interacting with guys from the “old guard,” for whom racism and xenophobia was as natural as breathing. But the chain of command was what it was, so Mark kept his cool.

“Well, you and Marielle watch your backs, detective,” Albanese said, as the door to Mark’s floor opened. “Gaultier’s been known to get… upset when the authorities start sniffing around his affairs.”

“I’ll be careful, sir,” Mark said, before the metal doors slid shut. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be out of the presence of his superior. He turned to his left, pushing through the swinging glass door marked “NPA – INVESTIGATIONS DEPARTMENT.”

Unlike the local police departments in the cities across the Network, whose detective units tended to specialize in different forms of criminal activity, the NPA only had one detective unit. As they were hand-picked from the most decorated and celebrated members of their local PDs, NPA detectives were expected to handle a wide variety of cases. From arson sprees to cross-city larceny to several instances of planet-wide serial killers, an NPA detective would have to be skilled in a vast array of disciplines and investigative techniques.

And their offices on the fifth floor of the NPA matched their elite status. It had been years now, but Mark still remembered the awe he had felt the first time he had walked through that door. Gone was squeezing into undersized cubicles with waist-high walls, to type away on PCs six years out of date. Here, each detective pairing was given their own office space, with the latest in technology at their fingertips and windows looking out onto the scenic Valley Green area. Of course, considering the difficult cases that were often handed to them, most NPA detectives didn’t get the opportunity to spend much time here. But without any leads to chase on the Keenan death at the moment, Mark would appreciate the chance to gather his thoughts at his desk for a little while, determining what avenue of investigation to pursue next.

As he stepped through the door, Brianne Beyer popped up from behind her desk at the front. “Good morning, Mark!” the cheerful administrative assistant said, holding up a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. “Somebody dropped this off for you.”

Walking up to Brianne’s desk, Mark gave the brick-sized package a curious look as he took it, the unmarked parcel feeling fairly light in his hand. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries today. Thinking back to the deputy chief’s words about Gaultier, for a moment he considered sending the mysterious package over to the bomb disposal unit. But he was just being paranoid. Whoever dropped off the package had to have gotten it through security at the front. No way would a bomb have made it through the x-ray machines.

“Thanks, Brianne,” Mark said, still handling the package carefully as he walked down the hallway to his and Marielle’s office.

Even having heard about it from Candice earlier, Mark was still stunned to see Marielle sitting at her desk when he walked in the door. And if that wasn’t strange enough… she was smiling. His partner’s general attitude when forced to be in the office tended to range from “aggravated” to “hung over.” The few times he had seen her happy, it was usually after they – as in “he” – had just cleared a big case that would keep Lieutenant Sanderson off their case for a few weeks. And even those occasions hadn’t prompted a dreamy smile like the one Marielle currently wore.

Setting his mystery package down on his desk, Mark leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and staring down at Marielle suspiciously. “Okay… what did you do?” he asked.

Looking up from her computer, Marielle gave her partner an innocent look. “Huh?”

“You never come in early,” Mark said. “On time… occasionally. Late most mornings, an hour at minimum. But early? Never. So, what did you do, and how am I going to have to cover for you this time?”

Leaning her arm on her desk, Marielle rested her chin on her palm, looking mildly annoyed. “Come on, Mark. I know I hit the snooze a few too many times, but I’m not late _that_ much.” Seeing Mark arching his brow, Marielle gestured with her other hand in a motion of surrender. “Okay, fine, I know. But I swear to you, it’s nothing bad. I just…” she let out a noise that Mark had never heard her make before. One of odd contentment. “I had a really good night’s sleep last night.”

“Let me guess,” Mark said, sitting down at his desk facing Marielle’s. “Because I think I’ve heard this one before once or twice. You met some amazing man or gorgeous woman last night, and it was more than just a one-night stand. This time… it was something special.”

Sneering at Mark a little, Marielle rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re such a prick some of the time, you know? No, wait… I mean _all_ of the time,” she said. “Well, for your information, it’s nothing like that. I’m not getting my hopes up that she’s ever going to call me again. But while it lasted…” Marielle made that noise again, that little joyful sigh. It gave Mark the shivers. “She was amazing. The kind of girl that makes you feel… like you’re worth chasing after.” Shaking her head, as if waking up out of a light sleep, Marielle’s tone turned serious. “Anyway, we should focus on Keenan. I’m sure you don’t want to hear all the details of my evening.”

No, he sure didn’t. And for once, it appeared as if Marielle wasn’t going to follow that sentence up with telling him all the details anyway.

“Have we heard back from Linkman yet?” Mark said, waking up his PC and accessing his inbox.

Marielle shook her head. “Nope. Guess he’s still scrubbing the building’s surveillance data for anything that would get him tossed out of the window right after good old Howie. Bet we won’t be seeing those camera feeds for a couple of days at least.”

Mark gave his desk a light shove. “Dammit, if we could just see who went into that office before Keenan went out the window. It would fill in so many of the blanks.”

“Yeah, but even if the killer is right there grinning into the camera, you can bet we’re never gonna see it,” Marielle said. “Ariano will probably slice that clip out and deliver it to all of his people: ‘A cool mil or two to anyone who finds me this asshole and rips his nuts off for me,’” she said in a gruff voice.

Pulling up the case file on his computer, Mark stared at the small amount of details in frustration. “None of it adds up. The guy had a gun on him, not fired. So why jump out of a window if it _was_ a suicide… and why not use it on your attacker if it was a murder?”

“Wait, are we looking at this all wrong?” Marielle remarked. Raising her hand up dramatically, she waved it around. “What if it was one of those casters, beamed in there and then… poof!” she flicked her wrist. “Made our boy Keenan disappear, right out of an eighth story window.”

But Mark shook his head. “Forensics went over the whole place. No alchemic or thaumaturgic residue in the office or hallway outside. A spell that powerful would have left some sort of indication. And besides… I don’t know much about all that caster stuff, but I hear that the folks back in Tanglewilde tend to step in when those powers are used to take a life.”

“Yeah, bet that the fed-ne…” Marielle said, before seeing Mark’s annoyed expression. “I mean, I’m sure that the Coalition of Caster Investigation would already be sticking their big warty noses in our business if there was magic involved. Still, our bosses are probably going to bring them in anyway, sooner or later.”

Mark nodded. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the captain is putting the call in already,” he said. “Hopefully we can dig up some new leads before the CCI comes in and takes this case over.”

Taking a sip of coffee with one hand, Marielle gestured with her other towards the wrapped package on Mark’s desk. “Maybe there’s a clue in that little box of yours,” she said after swallowing. “The killer sent you a signed confession or something. Apology note for causing so much trouble.”

Mark didn’t understand for a moment, then remembered. Picking up the brown package, he pulled open the twine holding it shut. Despite his certainty that it wasn’t anything dangerous, he still felt nervous as he unwrapped the paper, revealing a small box underneath.

“Aw, how come I don’t get any presents?” Marielle joked, Mark ignoring her.

Gently, Mark lifted open the box lid, nervously anticipating a sudden bang or blast of heat. But nothing happened. Looking inside, Mark saw an ordinary smartphone. He was reminded of a movie that Sean had worked on, some science fiction film where the hero was sent a phone and it had immediately started ringing the second he had pulled it out of the envelope. But, despite Mark giving it a few seconds, the phone simply sat silent.

He picked it up, and immediately noticed a small note on paper underneath: “CALL THE STORED NUMBER IF YOU NEED TO TALK. IT WILL NOT BE TRACED. -A”

Mark realized immediately what he was looking at, remembering his conversation from the day before. _Sometime within the next 24 hours, you will be provided a method of getting in touch with me, should my services be required._ Mark knew that, according to every regulation in the book, he should be immediately turning this phone over as evidence. But instead, he simply stared at it, feeling the weight of its implications bearing down on him.

Marielle let out a wry chuckle. “Oh, well now!” she said. “Is my goody-two-shoes partner getting a little on the side? Taking calls on a burner phone so hubby doesn’t see. What _would_ people think?”

Setting the phone down, Mark quickly got up from his desk, shutting the door to their office and twisting the lock. He turned back to Marielle, who watched all of this happening with a quizzical expression. “Alright, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room,” Mark said, tone deathly serious. “You don’t tell the lieutenant, you don’t tell the press… nobody knows about this except us, understand?”

“Oooh, so it _is_ something juicy!” Marielle said, leaning forward in her office chair. “Mark’s got some dirty little secrets to share. I’m all ears.”

“I’m serious, Marielle. This can’t get out to anyone. I’m not going to tell you if…”

Marielle looked impatient. “Just spill it already,” she said. Seeing Mark hesitate, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Come on, I know you’ve got enough shit on me to burn me twenty times over. You’ve kept so many secrets for me, I can keep one for you.”

Mark couldn’t help but think he was about to make a big mistake. But if he didn’t tell her now, he knew he’d never get a moment’s peace. “When you showed up at the crime scene yesterday, that limo you saw? I was in that limo.” He paused, took a moment to steel himself. “And so was Ambrose Gaultier.”

For as much as he had doubted himself, it was almost worth it to see the look of shock on his partner’s face. “You’re kidding me,” she said, her angular eyes wide as saucers. “You actually talked to him? _The_ Ambrose Gaultier? Not just some flunky, the man himself?”

Mark gave her a nod. “He told me that he had nothing to do with Keenan’s death. That the last thing he wanted was a war with Ariano, and that he wanted to help me find the real killer.” Walking over to his desk, he picked up the phone and held it in front of him. “And he said he would give me a way to contact him if I wanted his help.”

“Wow, that’s just nuts,” Marielle responded, staring at the phone in Mark’s hand like it was some sort of mythical creature. “And you believed him? That he didn’t do it?”

Sitting back down at his desk, Mark shrugged. “He seemed like he was being honest. But from the witness statements I’ve read, Gaultier’s got a knack for convincing people that he’s on their side, only to find a way to stab them in the back. Still… if he did kill Keenan, why try to convince me he didn’t?”

“Maybe he’s looking to frame up someone else,” Marielle guessed. “Feed you some fake evidence pointing at one of his other rivals, start up a mob war and watch them kill each other off.”

Mark considered this. It was a reasonable theory, but still… he just couldn’t make it work in his mind. He knew that it was possible Gaultier was just that charismatic, that even a veteran detective like himself could have been fooled. But when he thought back to that meeting in the limo, Gaultier had seemed utterly sincere in his desire to avoid any further bloodshed. When he had discussed wanting to bring the true killer to justice, Mark had been completely convinced.

“You gonna call him?” Marielle asked, bringing Mark out of his thoughts.

Mark immediately shook his head. “No, no way,” he said, tossing the phone down on his desk. “I don’t need some homicidal mobster in my corner for this. No Gaultier, no CCI… I’m going to solve this case myself.”

“You mean, ‘ _we’re_ going to solve this case’, right?” Marielle asked. Seeing Mark’s stare, she made an indignant sound. “Come on, you don’t do _all_ the work. I chip in… occasionally.”

“Fine, _we’ll_ solve the case,” Mark said. “Tell me, what sort of progress have you made in the investigation, Detective Maxwell?”

Marielle gestured at her monitor. “I checked my inbox to see if Linkman sent over the security footage yet. And I… assisted my capable partner in talking through some potential lines of inquiry.” Leaning back in her chair, Marielle puffed out her chest in pride. “All in a day’s work. Maybe I’ll knock off early today.”

Mark turned his attention to his computer. “Or… you could start running the records of Ariano’s other known associates. Maybe we’ve got somebody in the lockup who’d be willing to give up some info.”

“Psh, fine, I’ll go on a wild goose chase for you, Mark,” Marielle said. “I’m sure all those mob guys are just dying to have a chat with…”

Mark heard a hum, and thought for a moment it was the direct line to Gaultier buzzing. But he saw Marielle suddenly jump, frantically grabbing for her cellphone on the desk. Her face fell as she saw the incoming number, and she answered the line. “Hey. Yeah, two o’clock tomorrow is fine. Yes, I’ve been flossing.” Marielle frowned. “You calling me a liar? Listen, I’ll be there at two.” She hung up the phone, setting it down on her desk and staring at it as if it had just committed a major betrayal.

Despite himself, Mark felt a smile creeping onto his face. “Not getting your hopes up, huh?”

“Okay, fine, maybe I _am_ hoping she’ll call me,” Marielle admitted. That smile she had had when he walked in earlier slipped onto her face again. “God, look at me. Getting all moonstruck over some girl like I’m back in high school or something. I’m probably driving you nuts over there.”

Mark chuckled. “If it gets you in the office early like this, I say fall in love every night.”

“’Fall in love,’ don’t be silly,” Marielle said with a dismissive wave. “I mean, I barely even know her.” She glanced at her phone again and sighed wistfully. “She’s probably not going to call. Probably has a dozen women just like me pining after her. I just need to move on, focus on my work.” She looked up at Mark blankly. “What was it you wanted me to do again?”

Mark opened his mouth to repeat himself, when there was a knock at the office door. “Oh, right, forgot I left that locked,” Mark said, standing up and twisting the bolt before opening the door.

Standing outside, Detective Jayne Botezatu gave him a smirk. “Hey, the M Squad is in the house. How’s it going?” the blond-haired woman quipped, eliciting an eye roll from Mark. Ever since the captain had decided to pair up Mark McLoughlin and Marielle Maxwell on the duty roster, everybody just _had_ to be a comedian about it.

“Morning, Jayne!” Marielle greeted their colleague, peeking around Mark through the doorway. “Any updates from Gary?”

Jayne nodded. “Yeah, he called me last night. Said the operation went well, and that pesky appendix of his put up its hands and came out quietly,” she said. “Detective Pryor should be back up on his feet and taking down the bad guys in a few weeks.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mark said. “Send him our best.”

“Well, that’s the good news of the morning, I’m afraid,” Jayne said. “Mind if I come in for a sec so I can tell you the bad news?”

Stepping aside, Mark let the younger detective into their office. Unfortunately, he had a feeling her “bad news” was going to lead to him or Marielle having to cover some of her work. While she wasn’t nearly as bad as his partner, Jayne definitely reminded Mark of Marielle in some less-than-flattering ways. Some detectives went the extra mile to close a case; Jayne Botezatu would rather hand one of her coworkers a bottle of water and give them a nice pat on the back as they walked the mile for her. Still, with her partner out for maybe another month, Jayne was working her cases solo. So Mark supposed she did have an excuse. Still… didn’t account for all the _other_ times she had pawned her work off on other detectives.

“So, got a call down to Fortuna earlier this morning,” Jayne said, sitting on the corner of Marielle’s desk. “They fished some poor kid out of the Kamer River the night before.”

Marielle clucked her tongue. “Lifestealer Bridge claims another victim,” she said, before turning to Mark. “Man, what is it these days with all these jumpers? Gonna have to carry an umbrella if this keeps up.”

Mark gave Jayne a quizzical look. “They get an ID on the kid?”

Jayne nodded. “Body was pretty messed up from the fall, but the prints were intact. Kid had a few juvie offenses on file, so we were able to pull her up. Name was Annie… Portman? No, Longman, that was it. Wellspring kid, barely 16. A shame.”

“So, depressed kid’s daddy beats her or mommy doesn’t hug her enough, she pays a visit to the Lifestealer,” Marielle dismissively observed. “How come Fortuna PD wanted the NPA on this? Don’t tell me _she’s_ in deep with the Ariano syndicate, too.”

“Nah, nothing that exciting,” Jayne said. “But the M.E. does a tox screen on the kid, and she’s got some crazy messed-up shit in her liver. Like, high-grade hallucinogens, not the kind of stuff they usually see down in Wellspring. Fortuna PD sends the results over to the Wellspring cops, and now the WPD’s worried they’ve got some major drug epidemic going on in the high schools. So we’ve got both departments beating down our door, wanting us to step in and find out where this girl managed to score this shit.”

Marielle gave Jayne a sympathetic look. “So now they’ve got you chasing down high school dope dealers. Tough break. I can’t stand goddamn teenagers, myself. Bunch of smart-asses.”

A smile crept onto Jayne’s face. “So, on that topic… remember that favor you owe me?” she asked Marielle. “Because with Gary still out, somebody needs to go down to the girl’s high school and…”

“Goddamn it,” Marielle muttered. “You’re really going to call in that chit now? When me and Mark are working this major mob case and everything?”

“Come on, I already have to go talk to the parents,” Jayne said. “You know how miserable that’s gonna be, them bawling their eyes out over their little girl biting it? You’ve got the easy job. Just go over to Wellspring High School, break it to the kids there about their friend, and see if any of them are willing to rat out who’s dealing this high-grade acid or whatever.” Jayne gave a shrug. “Odds are none of them say a damn thing, we tell the WPD we did what we could, and pass the buck back to them.”

Marielle looked at Mark. “Hey, I’d love to help, but my partner here’s already got me working some important stuff for the Keenan case. Right, Mark?”

Normally, Mark would begrudgingly bail Marielle out. But this time, he decided to let her suffer a little. “Tell you what,” Mark offered. “If you can tell Jayne what I told you to do, then _I’ll_ go and talk to the high school kids.”

“You… you wanted me to…” Marielle started to say, then groaned in frustration. “Fine, fine,” she said, grabbing her phone from the desk and standing up. “I’m gonna get you back for this, Mark, I swear.” She headed for the door, but paused halfway out to the hall, turning to Jayne. “Wait… you said Wellspring High School, right?”

“Right, I already called the principal and told her somebody would be there in a few minutes to talk to the students,” Jayne said, and gave Marielle a look. “What is it?”

An odd expression came to Marielle’s face. “Nothing, just… I might know somebody who goes there.”

Jayne smirked. “Really? You hang out with a lot of high schoolers, Detective Maxwell? I knew your dating standards were low, but wow!”

Marielle sneered. “The two of you can both fuck off,” she remarked to Jayne and Mark, before heading out into the hallway.

“Such a charmer,” Jayne remarked to Mark. “Just the gentle soul those kids need in these trying times.”

Mark shrugged and said nothing, turning to return to his work. He could see Jayne still lingering in his office, however, and pivoted his chair back to her. “Was there anything else?” he asked.

“Okay, I gotta ask, Mark,” Jayne said, her voice lowering in volume as she moved to sit on the edge of his desk. “Why the hell do you put up with her? Everybody on this floor knows that she’s a useless wreck of a detective.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a useless wreck of a detective who happens to have friends in high places,” Mark explained.

Jayne shook her head in disbelief. “Come on, Mark, I don’t buy it. She may know people, but you _are_ people. You’re Mark McLoughlin, greatest detective in Chapel City history. The human trafficking raid, the artifact smuggling… hell, you even busted your own partner on that one. Maybe you don’t get her fired, but at the very least you’ve got enough pull to get yourself assigned a different partner. Anybody else, they would have hung her out to dry a long time ago.”

Mark smacked his lips, thinking for a moment about his next words. “You remember my last partner, Jayne?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, who could forget? Good old King Shit Eddie Shilton,” Jayne said, looking disgusted at the memory of their former co-worker. “God, the way that asshole would crow every time he’d clear a big case. Guess we should be grateful he won that election back in Eagle Bay. Can you imagine if he’d gotten promoted, and we ended up having to serve under that prick?”

“Exactly,” Mark said. “Eddie always had to take charge of every investigation. Gave me directions on what to do, where to go, every step of the way. When we’d clear it, he’d always take the credit. And if one of our cases went cold, it was always my fault.” He smirked. “And I’m sure you remember who I was with before that.”

“Of course, Dirty Bill,” Jayne said with a smirk. “Well, you’ve got a point there. Marielle may be a useless drunk, but at least she hasn’t tried to shoot you… yet.”

“I’ve had three partners since I joined the NPA,” Mark said, holding up a hand with three fingers extended. “One of them was a dirty cop,” he pointed at the first finger, folding it down. “And the other was an insufferable glory hound who wouldn’t let me work cases the way I wanted to work them,” he folded down another finger, leaving one left. “Call me superstitious, but at this point, I honestly don’t feel like rolling the dice again. I may have to do twice the work with a partner like Marielle, but at least I can _do_ the work. Without somebody breathing down my neck, or putting a gun in my face.”

“Well, still… if Gary’s stitches should pop open and he ends up on a long-term LOA,” Jayne said, “You know where my office is. The two of us working together… I think we’d be one hell of a team.”

“I’ll consider it,” Mark said, knowing that having Jayne as a partner would only be trading slightly up from Marielle.

Saying her goodbyes, Jayne headed out of the office. As Mark pulled up the police databases, hunting for any potential angles on the Keenan case, he reflected on the other reason he hadn’t put in for a new partner. The one he hadn’t told Jayne.

It had been a weakness of his for some time. Even back when he was the rabid, devil-may-care “cowboy cop,” there was still that sense of optimism in him. That desire to believe that everyone, no matter how far in the gutter they had fallen, still had good inside of them.

Marielle may have been a lazy, nearly useless partner… but there had to have been a time when she was good at her job. She couldn’t have gotten a spot in the NPA if she hadn’t been considered the best of her department at some point. In a way, Marielle Maxwell was a puzzle that Mark wanted to solve. To figure out how she could have fallen so far. And, he hoped against all evidence, to eventually see her climb back out from the hole she had dug for herself. Maybe if he stuck with her long enough, he’d eventually see a better side of her. The one that had gotten her into the NPA in the first place. Even after almost a year of covering for her fuck-ups… Mark still wanted to believe that there was a decent cop somewhere inside of her, just waiting for the right moment to show her face once again.

And, Mark thought to himself as he stared at the mysterious phone on his desk, maybe it was that same desire to see the good in people that made Mark so ready to take Gaultier at his word. No matter how many times he looked over the case files, saw the bloody remains of those who had trusted Gaultier in the past, it just didn’t square with the man he had met in that limousine. Mark thought back to that conversation, searching through his memory for any sign of deception in Gaultier’s words. Any moment where he betrayed a hint of a lie in his tone, or his body language.

But he just hadn’t seen it. Had his optimism blinded him to it? Or was Gaultier not the man everyone feared he was after all?

Staring intently at the phone, Mark finally picked it up. Opening up the contacts list, he saw one number, just as the note promised. No name listed… because Mark would know who he was calling.

His thumb hovered over the call button. Hung there for several seconds. Until he finally shut off the screen and tossed the phone away in frustration.

“No,” he told himself. “I can do this. I _will_ do this. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Even as he spoke them, the words felt empty.


	7. WICKED INTERLUDE: Nocturnal Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wicked interludes are optional, erotic scenes, not necessary to follow the plot of SLEGWIT. If you have any triggers or other content you find objectionable, scroll to the bottom of this page for content warnings; if the listed content is not to your liking, feel free to skip the above scene. Otherwise, scroll back up and enjoy!

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Casey let out a long, loud yawn. Looking out from behind his newspaper, his grandfather Michael gave him a wry smile. “Careful, there, champ,” he said. “You’re going to let the flies in.”

“Uh huh,” Casey muttered, picking at the plate full of breakfast in front of him. He learned a while back that groaning at his grandpa’s terrible jokes did nothing to stop them. So now he just played it cool, let them roll right by. Not that doing that worked either, but after a month of living with his grandparents, he had already run out of ideas on how to make the pain stop.

“Aw, honey,” his grandma Emily looked over at him in concern. “Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”

The three of them were sitting around a card table that doubled as the primary dining area for the Cross household. Casey was almost positive that it was the same table that his mother Jenna had eaten at back when she had grown up here. Along with most of the other furniture and furnishings in this place, it was a relic of a long-ago time.

“Old,” that was the whole vibe Casey got from this place. From the front of the house – with its wraparound porch on the ground floor, matching balcony above on the second, and general feeling of being something built more than a hundred years ago – to the “vintage” furnishings, i.e. stuff that his grandparents had never gotten around to replacing.

Most of all, Casey remembered feeling a little creeped-out every time he had to come over to visit back when he was a kid. Something about the smell of the place made him feel… off. Which meant he was not exactly thrilled to learn that he was going to be living here for the foreseeable future. Bad enough he had to move to another city, and try to make friends at a completely different school. Now he was stuck sleeping in his mom’s old bed, in her creepy old home, with her boring mom and dad.

“Tell you what it is,” Michael observed from behind his newspaper. Casey was pretty sure his grandpa was the last person on the face of the planet who still had a newspaper subscription. “It’s those damn video games he plays up there. Keeps the boy up all night so he ends up sleeping in class.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” Casey said. “It was… I just had a weird dream, that’s all.”

“Ooh,” Emily jumped in her seat, an eager expression on her face. “You should tell us about it, honey. Sarah from my old bridge group…” she turned her attention to Michael. “You remember Sarah, don’t you, pa? She was the one who had that really bad gout.”

Michael thought for a moment. “Thought that was Melanie,” he said.

“No, no, Melanie was the one who had the bad hip,” Emily corrected him, while Casey patiently waited for the train he was currently trapped on to find its way back to the “point” station. “She died two years ago, remember? Anyway,” she finally looked back at Casey. “Sarah got really interested in dream interpretation a while back, and she recommended a book to me about what your dreams really mean. I didn’t read the whole thing, but I think I got the general idea. So... tell me about your dream, and I'll see if I can figure out what it really means.”

Casey shifted in his chair, the old wooden antique creaking under his ass. “Uh… I dunno. This dream was… well, a little different.”

* * *

“Yeah, take that bullet right up your ass, you chicken shit sniper bitch!”

Chester’s exuberant cry of victory boomed out from Casey’s headset. Frowning, Casey triggered his own microphone, as he navigated his medic character across the battlefield with his WASD keys. “Chester, fall back and let me heal you. Your health is at 5 percent,” he warned.

“Ah, don’t worry, man,” Chester assured him over their comms channel, even as Casey watched him advance forward on the minimap. “These guys couldn’t hit me if they were… shit!” His character’s icon went red, and the rest of the members of their strike team let out groans. “Lucky shot, man.”

“Good one, dumbass,” said Jerome, one of their regular online squadmates from Eagle Bay. “They’re taking the point back because you pushed too far ahead.”

One of the strangers they had gotten put in the match with, user name BigPeter6969, made a low, annoyed sound. “Way to throw, asshole,” he slowly and sarcastically congratulated Chester. “Now we’re gonna have to wait ten minutes to get into another match.”

“Man, whatever, if you guys hadn’t hung back like a bunch of pussies, we woulda won that shit,” Chester protested, as the final stats of the match flashed on Casey’s monitor, showing how badly they were beaten before taking their group back out to the queue screen to wait for a new battle to begin.

Casey looked out of the window of his bedroom. He had hopped on the computer after coming back from watching the wrestling PPV at Chester's place, and it was already pitch-black out. Still… one more match, and he could still get a good five hours of sleep before school tomorrow. More than enough, definitely.

“Hey, any of you guys watching _My Next Door Neighbor Is Really A Magical Elf Princess_ _?!?!_ ” Jerome asked, the group chatting idly as they waited for the next match.

“Hell, yeah, that shit’s awesome,” said a particularly exuberant member of their group, username ChaseMeLoser1. “That battle scene at the end of the first episode is top 5 of all time, no question.”

Casey activated his mic. “I don’t know, seems kinda silly to me. I mean, the whole premise doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s not to get?” Jerome protested. “Hot chick shows up as a transfer student to the hero’s high school, and he finds out that’s she actually an elf maiden from another dimension. But turns out one of the teachers at the school is actually a demon out to behead elves and steal their magic, so the hero and the girl have to keep her secret from getting out. Yeah, it’s cliched, but it still works.”

“Dude, it’s so stupid,” Casey said, watching as the counter for their wait time hit two minutes. “She’s still got pointed ears like an elf. And she talks like she was born 500 years ago, all those ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s. Not to mention how she dresses, especially since they’re all supposed to be in uniforms. And we’re supposed to believe that nobody notices there’s something weird about her?”

“Yeah, alright, the writing is crap,” Jerome conceded. “But that voice acting, man. One of the best VA casts I’ve ever heard.”

BigPeter6969 jumped in, the leer on his face almost audible as he spoke. “Yeah, and that main girl is pretty hot. You seen some of the fan art of her out there? There’s one I saw where she loses the fight with the goblin hordes from episode 3, and they… well, you can guess what happens next. Look it up.”

“I dunno, not really my thing,” Casey said. “I’m kinda been getting into _Koala Café_ lately.”

The rest of the group let out audible groans. “Seriously, dude?” Chester chided him. “I thought everybody was boycotting that shit.”

“Damn right,” Jerome said, while the match counter hit three and half minutes. “After Fukurō Hadaka bailed on finishing _Space Wolf Liberation Force_ , right when it was getting close to the end? No way am I going to watch anything that guy works on, ever again.”

“Yeah, I know, but still… did you read that interview with him?” Casey said. “Sounded like he was getting really burnt out on writing that same show for all those years. Kinda was a little sad, him talking about how went through some really bad depression and stuff.”

An audible scoff from Chester through the headset. “Oh, boo hoo. Feel so bad for the guy writing a show that a bunch of people liked and cared about. Must suck to be, like, popular and shit.”

“Hey, I get it,” ChaseMeLoser1 chimed in. “That stuff he went through does sound rough. But still… _Koala Café_ is just soooo boring. It’s just a bunch of people talking. Where’s all the action, man?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of a slow build,” Casey responded. “And if it’s what Hadaka wants to do, isn’t that a good thing? Sounds like this is a real passion project for him, and… I dunno, makes me feel good to support that.”

“Whatever,” Chester said. “Hope it flops so that Hadaka goes back to writing interesting shit.”

A bright flash on the screen. “Alright, finally!” BigPeter6969 exclaimed, as the “MATCH FOUND” message came up on all their monitors. “Hey, WrightStuff. Don’t fuck it up this time, man.”

“Dude, I didn’t fuck up shit. How about you keep your shield up this time, rather than going in swinging like a fucking reta…”

And out of nowhere, Chester’s protests went silent. Casey blinked, watching as his screen went black, and the voices in his ear were gone.

“Ah, shit, not now,” he muttered, pressing the power button on his monitor several times. For a moment, he thought maybe the electricity had gone out, but the lights in his bedroom were still illuminated. Dammit, was his PC fried? He had saved up for months to upgrade his video card. If this thing died on him now…

Just as he was about to stand up to check his PC tower, the screen came on again. But instead of his desktop, the only thing on his screen was a single window, with the telltale buttons of a video player at the bottom. It wasn’t the player that Casey normally used, though. He didn’t recognize this window at all.

Putting his hand back on the mouse, Casey gave it a wiggle, trying to make the cursor pop up. But there was no sign of the little grey arrow. As he stared at the screen in confusion, he jumped as a video started playing.

It was one of the videos from his… private collection, tucked away in a secret folder on his hard drive. One of those videos that started with an off-screen interviewer talking to the girl who was about to have a real fun time with one or more hard cocks. On screen, the gorgeous blonde with ridiculously bad implants about to spill out of her tight top smiled into the camera. “Hi, there,” she said, giving a pert little wave.

And then the video paused. Casey tried again to click on the window, but there was no indication on the screen that the computer was responding to his commands.

As he watched, the video on screen went away, to be replaced by another one. This one was another standard cliché: the stepson comes home from school to find his mother stuck halfway inside of a washing machine, her ample MILF backside sticking out for easy access, clad only in a pair of thong panties.

“Can you hear me?” the 26-year-old high school student on screen asked his fake stepmother. Again, the video paused.

“What the hell…” Casey muttered. He watched as the first video played again.

“Hi, there.”

Then the second video.

“Can you hear me?”

“Hi, there.”

“Can you hear me?”

This had to be some sort of hacker. Somebody had gotten into his PC and was fucking with him. Reaching for his tower, Casey held down the power button. He watched as the green light went black, then leaned back up to sit straight.

But the monitor was still on.

“Hi, there.”

“Can you hear me?”

Casey was starting to get seriously creeped out. And that fear got even worse when a new, third video from his collection appeared on screen.

This one was from a folder of the more extreme stuff. Videos where the porn star appeared at the start and end, assuring the viewer that she was participating in the video of her own free will, bookending a scene of her being tied up, dominated, and otherwise being violated.

In the new video, the girl was tied down on her hands and knees, while a rough-looking guy took a riding crop to her backside. Casey had watched this one enough that he knew exactly which part it was: the male dom was demanding that his sub beg him to please whip her ass again.

But whatever… force had taken over his PC, it only played one single word from the video: a tearful, desperate cry from the woman of “please.”

As Casey sat, too terrified to move, the third video was now added to the rotation:

“Hi, there.”

“Can you hear me?”

“…please…”

“Hi, there.”

“Can you hear me?”

“…please…”

“Hi, there.”

“Can you…”

“Yes, I can hear you,” Casey said.

As soon as he finished speaking, the videos immediately stopped playing. Casey watched, waiting in a mix of curiosity and terror for what would happen next.

Eventually, another video started playing. One of those POV videos where the girl was fucking “you,” aka a very lucky cameraman. “Aw, don’t be nervous,” the girl on screen said with a smile, her hand rubbing the large mound at the juncture of the spread legs she was currently reclining between. “We’re gonna have fun, baby.”

“Um… are you… who are you?” Casey asked.

Whatever was talking to him responded by combining two videos. One with the porn star talking about herself, and another starring one of Casey’s favorites: Aleena Valencia, introducing herself to the camera.

“I…”

“Leen…”

“I…”

“Leen…”

“Eileen,” Casey guessed. “Your name is Eileen?”

Another video of Aleena Valencia, her bent over taking cocks up her pussy and ass. “Yeah, that’s right, baby!” she eagerly proclaimed.

“What… what are you doing in my computer... Eileen?” Casey asked. He realized how stupid he would have looked to anyone walking in, talking to his porn collection like it was a person. But… his porn collection sure seemed to be talking back.

“Just hanging out, you know,” said Eileen through the woman in another video. “Hoping I can get fucked today.”

Casey cocked his head at the monitor, not sure how to respond to that.

“Hey, do me a favor,” said the next video, the black-skinned beauty on screen smiling vapidly into the camera.

Casey nodded, wondering if whatever was doing all this could even see him. “Uh, sure,” he said.

He jolted, as the one video screen suddenly turned into dozens. Each of them repeating a variant on the same theme:

“Take out your cock.”

“Show me that big fucking cock, baby.”

“Let me see what you’ve got in those pants, stepbro.”

“I want to see that big, fat, juicy cock.”

“Mm, you got a fat fucking dick for my horny little pussy?”

This had to be a dream. That was the only explanation. As the women on screen continued their pleas on Eileen’s behalf, Casey could feel his hand reaching down between his legs. Opening up the flap of his pajama pants, his fingers went down into his boxers and wrapped around his penis. Insanely, with all the moaning and begging happening on screen, Casey realized that he was actually getting hard.

Once his cock was out of his pants, the videos on screen shifted to new ones.

“Oh, wow, is that big thing all for me?”

“That cock is huge, ohmigod!”

“Oooh, I’ve been waiting for a thick one like that.”

“That is the biggest cock I have ever seen!”

Whoever this "Eileen" was, she must not have seen a lot of cocks in her time. Not that Casey was small by any means, but he definitely didn’t compare to any of the cocks that the women in the videos were cooing over.

Slowly, almost out of habit, he began stroking himself, working his fingers slowly up and down the shaft of his cock.

“Stop!”

The volume coming out of his speakers made him jump, as the video windows consolidated back down to one, showing one of a handful of femdom videos he had downloaded during one of his more “experimental” jerk-off sessions.

“Stop!” the woman in the tight latex corset loudly demanded again. “Hands off that, you pathetic loser!”

Casey’s hand immediately leapt away from his penis, as if it were some kind of dangerous snake. As it hung out of the crotch of his pants, painfully erect and throbbing between his legs, a new video began to play, a lot more vanilla and gentle than the last one. “Mmm, let me play with it a little, baby,” the tattooed, spiky-haired woman on screen said.

And that’s when he felt fingers around his cock again. Not his own this time... but someone else’s.

“Fuck!” he cried out in surprise at the unexpected touch, jolting in his seat. He felt his desk chair tumbling backwards on its casters, and he landed back-first on the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

On the screen, the dominant man from the earlier bondage video let out a mocking laugh. “Ooh, bet that hurts,” he said.

His breath coming in heavy gasps, Casey began slowly backing his way across the floor with his elbows. He looked under the desk, but there was no sign of anyone there. But he _had_ felt somebody taking hold of his cock. He was sure of it. Or was he going crazy after all?

Another woman on screen, a MILF from another step-mom fantasy video. “Oh, it’s okay, baby. Just let me help you with that nasty hard-on.”

Casey went stiff and still, as he felt the touch of someone’s hand around his cock again. There was nobody there. He was staring straight into empty space between his legs. But _something_ was giving him a handjob. His cock stood out, rigid and pointing at the ceiling, and it bobbed slightly at the gentle strokes from the mysterious… ghost or whatever Eileen was.

“Just lie back and relax,” said the computer screen. “I’m going to make you cum so hard.”

“Oh, fuck,” Casey gasped, his terror at his bizarre scenario slowly slipping away, replaced with a growing sense of lust. He watched as his foreskin seemed to move up and down of its own accord. Not feeling afraid anymore… just watching it happen in a perverse sort of fascination.

“Mmm, you like that, baby?” the computer… Eileen asked. “You like the way I play with your cock?”

Casey nodded. “Yes,” he breathed. “I love it.”

Eileen stroked him softly and slowly, the gentle touch of her invisible fingers making Casey desperately horny. He gasped as he felt her other hand moving up and underneath his t-shirt. The fabric seemed to bulge and inflate, as an invisible arm moved underneath the cotton garment and began tenderly stroking his chest.

After a few minutes of spectral stimulation, a voice from the computer again, Eileen speaking with the voice of another of Casey’s favorite porn stars. “Oooh, it looks so yummy,” she said. “You mind if I have a little taste?”

By now, there was no hesitation. “No... no, I don't mind,” Casey said. Almost immediately, he felt the invisible hand slip away from his cock. Only to be replaced by a warm wetness that made his eyes roll back in his head. “Oh my God…”

“Oooh, look at her go,” said one of the women in the ménage à trois video that had been pulled up, her watching as another woman gave some lucky guy a blowjob not nearly as enthusiastic as the one Eileen was giving Casey. “I never knew she was such a cock-hungry slut.”

Looking back down between his legs, Casey watched as his cock rocked back and forth, seeming to move of its own accord under the vigorous sucking of his spectral sex partner. He was surprised to see his throbbing member start to glisten with moisture. “Ghosts have saliva?” he thought to himself insanely. “Learn something new every day.”

As Eileen continued to hungrily work her invisible mouth and tongue on his dick, Casey watched the long, thin bulge under his t-shirt slowly slide away, the fabric returning to rest against his sweat-slicked chest. After a few seconds, Casey felt the touch of Eileen's hand again, this time reaching into his PJs to find and play with the base of his shaft and his balls. Casey’s hands gripped into the fabric of his carpet, struggling to keep from blowing his load. But if Eileen kept this up, he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer.

As if sensing his thoughts, the invisible hand and mouth were suddenly gone. Through the femdom video from earlier, Eileen spoke to him again: “Don’t you dare cum, you piece of shit! You don’t get to cum until I say so, you understand?”

Dazed and horny, Casey nodded. At this point, he didn’t care who or what Eileen was. He would do anything she asked. Anything to relieve this painfully stiff boner.

The dominatrix spoke again. “Ask me to fuck you, slave,” Eileen said. “Beg to be allowed to put your dick inside me.”

“Please,” Casey immediately responded. “Please let me fuck you, Eileen. I need to fuck you.”

“Mmm… and what are you going to do for me?” Eileen playfully asked in the voice of a giggly, "barely legal" starlet.

Casey gasped for breath. “Anything,” he said. “Anything you want. Just please let me fuck you.”

In response, an array of videos appeared on his monitor. Instead of playing all at once, however, they began playing one-by-one, making a sequence of individual words.

“…bring…”

“…me…”

“…back…”

“…bring…”

“…me…”

“…back…”

Casey stared up at the monitor on his desk in confusion. “What… I don’t understand.”

“…find…”

“…a way…”

“…bring…”

“…me…”

“…back…”

He had no idea what Eileen was asking, but the videos were only getting more insistent. The windows all began playing different videos again:

“Do it…”

“Yeah, do it…”

“Please, do it…”

“…do it, baby…”

“Fucking do it, already...”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Casey agreed, still not sure what he was agreeing to, but desperately craving Eileen’s touch on his cock again. “I’ll… bring you back, I promise. Just please… please fuck me.”

“Wow, that’s just what I needed, baby,” cooed Eileen through the computer again.

And then, Casey felt warm wetness around his cock again. Not the mouth from before, but something tighter. Invisible flesh sliding along the head of his cock, moving slowly down until it encased his entire manhood in exquisite pleasure.

“Oh, my God,” he thought to himself. “Oh, my God, my first time… my first time is with a ghost!”

The invisible pussy gripped his cock hard, Eileen starting to ride him. Slowly at first, but steadily increasing in tempo. Before long, Eileen was bouncing on his cock harder than Aleena Valencia rode that big black dick in one of Casey's favorite scenes. As many times as Casey had imagined what it would be like when this finally happened... none of his fantasies could have ever compared to this.

It was so good. So fucking good. The most amazing thing he had felt in his life. Was normal sex like this? Or was it because Casey was getting fucked by... by Eileen? Any part of him that wondered what Eileen was had long since departed. All he cared about was how good she was making him feel.

In some sort of carnal instinct, Casey reached out to take hold of his partner’s bouncing hips, only for his fingers to move through empty air. On the monitor, the streak of porn being shown was broken, as a music video from decades ago suddenly played for a second, the singer chiding Casey with the chorus: “You can’t touch this.”

Casey lost track of how long it went on. It felt like hours passed with Eileen's tight pussy keeping him just on the brink of climax. “Yes,” moaned Eileen, through the voices of dozens of different women on his computer. Rotating through his entire collection, Casey heard every single fantasy woman he had lusted after in his nightly jerk-off sessions, squealing and crying out in unrestrained lust, all while Eileen continued vigorously bouncing on him. Hearing voice after voice begging for his cock, telling him how good he was giving it to them, crying out that he was going to make them cum… it almost felt to Casey like he was fucking all of them at once. Every last one of his dream women, condensed down into one impossibly perfect pussy.

Just as he was nearing his climax again, the multitudes of porn stars were replaced on the screen by one: the dominatrix from earlier.

“Beg me to cum, worm,” Eileen commanded him. “Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please let me cum, Eileen,” Casey obeyed. “Please let me cum.”

“…bring…”

“…me…”

“…back…”

“…find…”

“…a way…”

“…bring…”

“…me…”

“…back…”

“I will, I’ll bring you back,” Casey babbled, unable to think straight through the haze of lust clouding his brain. “I promise, I’ll find a way, Eileen. I swear, I swear, I swear, just let me cum.”

On screen, hundreds of different windows opened at once. All of them playing the exact same moment from his entire collection of porno vids:

“I’m cumming!”

“Right there, right there, my pussy’s cumming…”

“Oh, my god, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck… fuck I’m cumming!”

“Cu… cumming…”

Casey's cock slid all the way into Eileen’s ghostly pussy, Eileen letting him fill her completely. Casey felt his muscles spasm and contract as his cock throbbed, his balls preparing to spew their sticky contents into his partner’s ghostly womb. Throwing his head back against the carpet, Casey thrust his hips up into Eileen’s perfect pussy, grunting as he felt his cum erupt from the tip of his cock.

“Fuck.. fuck yes,” Casey moaned, his orgasmic cries mixing with the satisfied squeals of the women on his computer. After several upward spasms of his hips against Eileen’s tight pussy, Casey slumped back onto the floor, feeling light-headed and satisfied.

Faintly, almost as if from a thousand miles away, he heard one last video playing. An off-screen man asked the cum-soaked girl on screen, “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, _so_ much fun,” the woman responded, Casey hearing her slurp loudly at some of the cum she had wiped off her face. With a giggle, the woman added, “Can’t wait ’til next time.”

“I’ll… I’ll bring you back, Eileen,” Casey muttered. His eyes slowly closing, he felt himself drifting off. “I promise, I’ll bring you back…”

And then his eyes snapped open as the alarm on his cellphone went off. Jerking in surprise, Casey jolted upright. Not on the floor, but in his bed. He looked around the room in confusion, squinting at the morning sun streaming through the window.

“Eileen?” he asked the thin air. Getting up on his feet, he went over to his computer desk. With a quick gesture of his mouse, his desktop came up. Looking absolutely normal, with no video windows open at all.

“Fuck,” Casey muttered, coming to his senses. “A dream. Just a damn dream.”

But it had seemed so real. And, as Casey looked down at himself, he muttered, “Oh, jeez.” At least one part of it had been real. His cock _was_ hanging out of his pajamas. And he had experienced what they had referred to in health class as a “nocturnal emission” in his sleep, his cotton pants sticky with his own cum.

“Guess I’m going to volunteer to do the laundry tonight,” Casey told himself, just imagining what his grandma would think if she saw this particular mess.

* * *

“Different? How was your dream different?” Emily asked him again.

Feeling his face turn slightly red, Casey avoided his grandmother’s look. “Uh… it was just… uh, there was a clown. A really scary clown.”

“Ooh, that’s interesting,” Emily said. “I think in the book it said that clowns represent…”

“Hey, why don’t you tell me tonight, grandma?” Casey said, rapidly gobbling up the last of his breakfast and jumping to his feet. “I just remembered I promised Chester I’d give him my notes from social studies before homeroom. See you tonight!”

Grabbing up his backpack, Casey rushed out before his grandparents could ask him any more questions about his embarrassing dream.

Luckily, by the time the SLEGWIT had arrived and he was in front of Wellspring High, the hazy memory of his erotic subconscious fantasy had already started fading from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Sex involving underage (16) character, with reluctant consent


	8. Interview

“So… a daughter, huh?” It was the first thing Dylan said to him, as Jason walked down from the second floor and stepped into the Lovelace house’s living room.

“Can we not talk about it?” Jason muttered, rubbing at his still sleep-bleary eyes.

“Fine, fine, just… you think you know a guy after years of working together,” Dylan said, getting up from the couch. “Call him your best friend, think that there ain’t anything the two of you wouldn’t trust each other with. And then, bam, surprise daughter. Can’t believe you never told me, Jace.”

“Let’s not fight today, honey,” Jason quipped, before his tone turned serious. “Look, you saw how that all went down. Things with me and Gina are… decidedly uncivil. The last time we spoke, she told me that I was, quote, ‘the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,’ unquote.” He gave a confused shrug. “And considering she wouldn’t even _exist_ if it wasn’t for my particular contribution… I’m really not sure how that works.”

Dylan shook his head. “Man, I guess it’s not a big deal,” he said. “Just warn me the next time you go running after somebody like that. Thought maybe you saw Merlin Waters himself strolling down the Fortuna strip. You gotta admit, it would have been pretty sweet if our biggest case in months was that easy.”

_“Drop the Waters case.”_

Jason frowned at the memory. He wondered whether or not he should tell Dylan what had happened after the two of them split up the previous night. The mysterious man on the bridge, his cryptic warning followed by a sudden disappearance.

Except… Jason wasn’t quite sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. He had been distraught after seeing Gina, not thinking clearly. With the way the man had disappeared out of nowhere, defying all logic… maybe it was all in his head. Did he really want to tell Dylan all about something he wasn’t positive had actually happened?

Before he could decide, Dylan jabbed a thumb towards the front door. “Anyway, we should head out. I called ahead to let her know we were coming.”

Jason gave him a nod. “Right, let’s go,” he said. As they walked to the front door, he started reaching for his favorite brown suede jacket, only to remember where they were heading and leave it hanging on the hook.

“And hey, sorry for bailing last night,” Jason said as they stepped out onto the front porch. “Hopefully you were able to… ‘get lit’ by yourself.”

Dylan flashed him a wide grin, as they walked down the front sidewalk to the street, waiting for their portal. “Shit, Dylan Medeiros doesn’t drink by himself, no way. Called up a girl I knew after you left, and the two of us ended up back at her place after we got done popping bottles at Club Crimson.” He gave Jason a light slap on the shoulder. “So, hey, guess I should thank you for getting out ahead of things, and taking off that third wheel before we even got started driving.”

The SLEGWIT portal arrived and formed the standard archway. Jason and Dylan stepped through one-by-one, as the cool morning air of Wellspring was replaced by the sweltering heat and salt-water smell of Sommerset Beach.

“Glad you and your lady friend were able to enjoy yourself,” Jason remarked, trying to think back to the last time he had been with a woman. So long ago, the memories were in black and white. As he reoriented himself to their new surroundings, Jason stared at the long, sandy pathway leading up to their destination, letting out a weary sigh. “Nobody told me there was going to be walking today,” he said.

“Yeah, you think rich folks like these would have, like, a shuttle service or something,” Dylan observed, the two of them setting off at a casual stroll towards the large house in the distance.

As they got closer to the massive, tropical-styled residence, they spotted two people heading out of the front door. One of them decidedly smaller than the other.

“Bye, mom!” the tiny, brown-haired girl exclaimed back into the house, before taking the hand of a skinny, bored looking teen. “You look sleepy, Chesser,” she said to the boy. “Do you get nap time at your school, too?”

“Yeah, it’s called ‘third period algebra,’” the teenager muttered, adjusting the backpack over his shoulder as he walked with the young girl down the front steps. He caught sight of Jason and Dylan approaching, and immediately tensed up, looking at them suspiciously.

“Hey, big guy,” Dylan warmly greeted the boy. “We called before. Is your mom here?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “ _Step_ -mom,” he corrected, a trace of disgust in his tone. “And yeah, Janie’s waiting for you inside.” He paused, studying the two of them carefully. “You cops or something?”

“Nah, we’re P.I.s, man,” Dylan said. “Sort of like cops, just without the badges. Or the racism.”

“We’re just here to ask your stepmother a few questions,” Jason assured the boy. “Nothing to worry about.”

The young girl looked up at Dylan with a curious look. “Your hair is funny, mister,” she observed, pointing up at Dylan’s dreadlocks. “Is it s’posta to look like that?”

“Come on, Willow,” the boy said, looking embarrassed as he led his sister out to the curb. Jason and Dylan watched as the boy pulled out his phone, summoning two portals and ushering his preschool-age sister into one of them before stepping through the other himself.

Dylan chuckled. “What a cutie,” he said. Glancing over at Jason, he arched an eyebrow. “Was Gina like that when she was that age?”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it,” Jason said, walking up the front steps of the giant summer home with Dylan.

They stood next to each other at the front door, taking a moment to prepare. “So, how do you want to play this?” Dylan asked his older partner. “You think Merlin and this Janie person had something going on? Maybe a lover’s quarrel out on a boat, she knocks him over the head and tosses him in the ocean?”

“No idea until we talk to her,” Jason said. “Celia seemed to trust her, but you and I both know how devious people can be when they want to get their secret freak on.”

Dylan nodded. “Yeah, like that one client we had, husband told her he was spending time after work doing outreach with at-risk youth,” he observed. “Wasn’t exactly ‘reaching out’ to that teenager we caught him with, though. At least, not with his hand,” he shuddered slightly at the memory.

“Alright, enough foreplay. Let’s go,” Jason said, giving the front door a few quick raps with his knuckles.

Immediately, a warm female voice called out. “It’s open! The first door on your right as you come in!”

“Sounds like a heartless black widow murderer to me,” Dylan observed, as Jason opened the front door and the two of them walked into the house, air-conditioning blasting them both in the face as they entered.

The front hallway was massive, twice the width of Jason’s office back at home. Giving the place a cursory scan, Jason spotted a family photo on the wall: the teen and pre-schooler from earlier, along with a suit-wearing older man with a salt-and-pepper mustache, and a smiling, tawny-skinned younger woman. Looking over the family, Jason could definitely see the resemblance of the daughter to both of her parents. Considering their conversation with the older boy earlier, it looked like he and Willow were probably half-siblings.

Dylan gestured at the picture, talking quietly. “Looks like Mr. Wright traded up for a younger model at some point,” he said, tapping on the wife in the photo. “Wonder if the boy’s mom was even out of the picture before big man here started getting it on with wifey number 2. Could be the lady likes fooling around with married men, maybe?”

Jason nodded, silently filing the details away in his mind. The two of them made their way through the doorway on the right into the living room. The room they entered was lavishly decorated, the kind of house that upped your tax bracket just by stepping inside of it. Plush couches and wicker chairs, a massive flat-screen television hanging on one of the cream-painted walls, and picture windows looking out into the private beach area just outside.

His eyes carefully scanning the room, Jason unexpectedly found himself staring at a well-rounded backside. The butt in question partially covered by tan shorts that rode up high on the wearer’s legs, revealing just a half-inch or so too much of the wearer’s well-toned upper thighs and lower… gluteus area.

As Jason blinked in surprise, the woman stood up and turned around. Jason immediately recognized the woman from the photo as she gave them a friendly smile. “Hi, sorry,” Janie Wright said, gesturing with the dirty plates and glasses piled up in her hands. “Chester had some friends over to watch the big wrestling show last night, and they left a mess for me to clean up, as usual. You mind if I go take these in the kitchen before we get started?”

“Not a problem, Mrs. Wright,” Jason said. “My partner and I will wait in here for you.”

Carefully balancing the soiled dishes, Janie hustled past them into the hallway. Jason caught Dylan’s eyes roaming downward as the young woman walked by, and gave him a light slap on the chest with the back of his hand.

Dylan shot him a look. “Hey, you were staring too, Jace,” he whispered.

“I… I wasn’t expecting it,” Jason said quietly, trying his best to sound innocent. “It was just kinda there, you know?”

“Oh, it’s _there_ , alright,” Dylan said, letting out a quiet whistle. “Tell you what: if Merlin _didn’t_ hit that before he went missing, the dude seriously fucked up.”

Jason said nothing, as the two of them sat down on one of the largest of the couches. He heard a brief sound of water running from down the hallway - Janie rinsing the dirty dishes off in the sink - before she stepped back into the room.

“Teenagers, right?” Janie said, shaking her head as she sat down in a chair near the two of them. “Expect you to wait on them hand and foot.”

“Yeah, my partner knows how that goes, doesn’t he?” Dylan said, giving Jason a hard stare. “What was Gina like when she was a teenager, Jace?”

Jason gave Dylan a withering look. “A perfect angel,” he said quickly, before turning back to Janie, giving her a quick once-over.

Her comment about teenagers was interesting, considering that Jason was pretty sure Janie was less than a decade past being a teen herself. She was dressed in slightly-revealing clothing, the cleavage of her sizable chest peeking out from the top of her flower-pattern blouse, along with the cut-off khakis that Jason had gotten an eyeful of earlier. Not exactly the mental picture Jason had gotten when Celia had described the young Mrs. Wright as her husband’s hard-working and dedicated environmentalist colleague. And it made Jason wonder if there _had_ been something going on between their missing man and his sultry co-worker.

“Anyway… thank you for meeting with us, Mrs. Wright,” Jason said. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your morning.”

Janie waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m working from home today, so I don’t have anywhere to be.” She leaned back in her chair, resting one of her elbows on the armrest and crossing her toned thighs. “I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to help, though. The police went over things pretty thoroughly back when Merlin disappeared.”

“We understand, but our client just wants us to cover all the bases,” Jason said.

Janie nodded. “Your client, Celia Waters.”

“I didn’t say…”

“You didn’t have to, Mr. Lovelace,” Janie said. “Merlin didn’t have any family that he talked about, and most of us at the EPG have pretty much given up hope of ever seeing him again. Celia is probably the only one out there who still thinks he might be coming back.”

Jason stared at her, mildly impressed. Maybe Janie wasn’t the brainless bimbo Jason had originally pegged her as.

“Regardless of who hired us,” he said, “we just need to ask you a few questions about Mr. Waters. You mind if we tape record this?”

“Not at all,” Janie said, as Jason pulled out his hand-held recorder and set it on the table nearby. “Just don’t make me listen to it. I hate having to hear my own voice.”

Jason gave her a nod. “Now, Mrs. Wright… tell us how you came to know Merlin Waters,” he began the interview.

“How I came to know, or how I met him?” Janie asked. “Because I knew _of_ Merlin long before I ever had the opportunity to speak to him in person. How familiar are you with the history of Huaca Brava, Mr. Lovelace?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” Jason admitted. “You’re from there, I assume?”

Janie gave him a nod. “Even before Dr. Xing brought the SLEGWIT portals to our town, my homeland had been getting a lot of attention. Mostly from loggers and oil companies looking to swoop in and plunder the jungles for their natural resources,” she said, sounding mildly disgusted. “When I was a child, I didn’t think about it much at first. All those strange men in hard hats just seemed like a normal part of our lives. But when I was fifteen, we had some different visitors. These ones didn’t bring chainsaws and bulldozers, but something much more powerful.”

Dylan chimed in. “Guns?” he guessed.

“Ideas,” Janie said. “They told us that we didn’t need to sit back and let capitalism destroy the beauty of our land. That we could fight back, and do it without resorting to violence. After a few months of our people lying in front of their equipment, protesting outside of their camps, and making their lives down there miserable… eventually the corporations moved on.” Disappointed, she added. “Of course, we found out later that they simply relocated their operations to another part of the country, one with less disagreeable residents. But at the time, it felt like a victory.”

“And it was Merlin Waters who helped make it happen,” Jason said.

“Yes,” Janie said. Looking past Jason and Dylan, she spoke in a nostalgic tone. “I’ll always remember that day. When the last machines were driven away, and those corporate bastards were gone for good. The people of Huaca Brava came together in the main town square. All of us, together, showing our pride in our home and how we had protected it from being plundered. And as we celebrated, a man came forward to speak to us. Back then he wasn’t the head of the EPG. In those days, he was just a simple man with a cause. But when I heard Merlin Waters speak for the first time, I made a promise to myself. That one day, I would join his cause.”

She laid a hand against her chest. “It was a promise I kept in my heart for many years. Ever since I saw him for the first time, I followed everything that Merlin Waters did. Watched his status grow from an independent crusader to the head of the most powerful and respected environmentalist group on the planet. And when my home was added to the Network, I knew that my opportunity to fulfill my promise had finally come.”

She let out a short laugh, looking a little embarrassed. “I was such a silly young thing back then,” she said. “No application, no résumé. I didn’t make an appointment or even call ahead. I just walked straight into the EPG offices and told the woman at the front desk that I wanted to work with Merlin Waters. They could have easily turned me away… just some headstrong girl barely in her twenties, demanding that they give me a job. But when they called up to his office, Merlin told them to send me right up.”

Jason nodded. “Seems to be a lot of success in that approach,” he thought to himself, remembering how Celia had randomly showed up at his doorstep, and sent him and Dylan on this merry chase.

“Once I was in Merlin’s office, it was all I could do to get the nerve up to talk,” Janie said, a quiet note of awe in her voice. “A man I had idolized for so long, and here he was, right in the same room with me. I thought I would die of embarrassment. But once I managed to make myself start speaking, I almost couldn’t stop. I told him about how grateful I was for what he had done to preserve the beauty of my home. How much I had dreamed ever since then that I could help him to protect the rest of the planet, just as he had helped us protect Huaca Brava. I went on and on… I must have seemed so foolish to him. Like a little girl gushing over her favorite celebrity. But once I was done, he just smiled, and said that he’d see what he could find for me to do.”

Jason watched her speak, the admiration for Merlin Waters evident in her tone and demeanor. The thought that this woman might have harmed a single hair on the man’s head seemed ludicrous to him now. Even years after he had vanished, it was obviously that Janie’s devotion to Merlin was utterly sincere.

Shaking her head, Janie gave the two detective an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I do tend to ramble on for a bit, especially when it comes to Merlin. I’ll try to keep it short from here.”

“It’s fine,” Jason assured her. “So, Merlin hired you at the EPG.”

“Yes,” Janie said. “First it was just clerical work, but eventually I worked my way up to become part of the corporate relations team. Advocates who would meet with representatives from various corporations and discuss ways they could reduce their impact on the environment without affecting profits.” She gave them a crooked smile. “You know… trying to do things the easy way, before having to get serious with them. And considering what sort of PR nightmares we can cause when we get serious… a lot of companies were quite eager to meet with us.”

“And did you work closely with Merlin during this period?” Jason asked.

Janie nodded. “Eventually, yes. At first, I was just another face in the office, copying paperwork and fetching coffee for everyone. But Merlin must have seen something in me, because I ended up spending more and more time working directly with him. It would just be a few questions when I first started, like ‘How does this letter sound?’ or ‘Which of these would look better for our next online banner ad?’ But as time went on, I would find myself spending most of my work day with him, discussing the most pressing EPG matters and advising him on how to best put our plans into action.” She smiled softly, old memories going through her mind. “So many late nights, just the two of us in his office, doing our part to save the planet.”

Jason shot a quick glance over at Dylan, who had been mostly silent since the interview started. Dylan gave him a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

He thought he had been subtle, but Janie immediately reacted to the brief non-verbal exchange. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Lovelace. To answer the question you were going to ask: Merlin and I were not lovers.”

Jason held up a hand. “I wasn’t going to…”

“But you would have, eventually,” Janie said, not sounding particularly offended as the detective’s unspoken insinuation. “You wouldn’t be a very good detective if you didn’t ask those sorts of questions. But no, the two of us never had that sort of relationship.” She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs and casually added. “Even if I might have _liked_ to, back when I was an eager twenty-one-year-old walking into his office for the first time. But he was utterly devoted to his wife back then, and eventually I met Dan and put that silly infatuation of mine aside for something more realistic. Trust me, Mr. Lovelace. My relationship with Merlin was strictly professional.”

Normally, the words “trust me” were a big red flag for Jason, but there was something genuinely unguarded in Janie’s tone. And maybe something wistful, as well. Perhaps some regret on Janie’s part that the timing had never worked out, and that her relationship with her personal hero had never had the opportunity to be more than professional.

“In any of those late night meetings, do you remember ever hearing Merlin say anything about OPT?” Dylan asked, jumping in to steer the interview away from the seemingly dead romantic angle. Jason had taught him well.

Janie looked over at Dylan, mildly confused. “OPT? Well, yes… just as much as any other major corporation, though. Why do you ask?”

“Just a theory of our client’s,” Jason said. “They suspect that Merlin might have had some major dirt regarding OPT that he was ready to reveal just before his disappearance. As someone who worked closely with him, we thought you might have heard him mention something.”

Janie glanced at the ceiling, digging through her memories. “Nothing is coming to mind,” she said. “I mean, it was a few years ago, now. Maybe I’m forgetting something.” She looked at Jason in wonderment. “Celia really thinks that Xing and her people murdered Merlin to cover up something?”

“It’s just a theory,” Jason responded. “But sounds like if he had something major on OPT, he didn’t share it with you.”

Janie looked baffled. “Here, let me show you something on our website,” she reached into the front pocket of her shorts, pulling out her phone. “This is our newswire section, where all our press releases and major stories are posted. See the number after the tag for ‘OPT?’”

Leaning over, Jason quickly scanned her phone screen. “176 stories,” he read off.

“Here’s the most recent one, from just a few weeks ago,” Janie continued, showing Jason a headline on her phone: _OPT DESTROYS HABITAT OF ENDANGERED SPECIES IN LATEST NETWORK EXPANSION._ “If you’re talking about ‘dirt’ on One Planet Technologies, Mr. Lovelace, we’re pretty much buried in it,” Janie said. “Our group is constantly finding out about new and terrible things that Xing and her people are doing to the environment. And telling the rest of the world about every detail we can find. But as much political pull as the EPG has… One Planet Technologies is in another galaxy from us, entirely. With the connections that OPT has, and the money they have to throw around, our attempts to rein in Xing and her company have gone nowhere.”

Putting her phone away, Janie shook her head. “So, as far as Celia’s… excuse me, your client’s theory that OPT would want to silence Merlin… I just don’t see why they would bother,” she said. “Merlin, me, everyone at the EPG… none of us could possibly be a threat to their operations, no matter what we reveal about them.”

Jason considered this. “So, sounds like One Planet doesn’t play ball with the EPG,” he said.

Janie’s upper lip curled slightly. “Oh, they put in token efforts every so often,” she said. “Just barely enough to look to the casual observer like they actually care about the environment. But as far as trying to protect this one planet we all live on, OPT ranks pretty near the bottom.” She paused, shaking her head. “Still… as bad as they are, I can’t imagine them resorting to murder.”

“Alright, what do _you_ think, Mrs. Wright?” Dylan said. “Seems like you knew the guy pretty well. You got any theories for what happened to Merlin?”

Janie sighed. “I honestly don’t know. For a while, I thought that…” she stopped herself, wringing her hands. “No. Never mind. It’s not relevant.”

“Go ahead,” Jason urged her. “Any theory, no matter how crazy it seems, would be a big help to us.”

For the first time since they had started this interview, Janie looked uncomfortable. “Look, she’s your client, and I know that you have to take her side in all this,” she said. “But when I told you before that Merlin was completely devoted to Celia back when I first met him… well, things change. And some of those late-night meetings in the office… I asked Merlin about it a few times, and he eventually admitted to me that part of the reason he liked working into the evening most nights was to avoid going home.”

Both Jason and Dylan leaned forward. “And why was that?” Jason asked. “Things weren’t going well with him and Celia?”

Janie nodded. “He never would tell me what they were fighting about. But for a few months up until he vanished, it sounded like his relationship with Celia was on its last legs, so to speak. So, when he disappeared, I thought at first that… maybe it was his way of finally getting away from her.”

“You thought at first?” Dylan repeated. “But not anymore?”

Janie shook her head emphatically. “Merlin and I may not have been involved romantically, but we were as close as two people could be without taking that step. If he _was_ still alive out there somewhere… I’m sure that he would have found some way to let me know,” she said. “After all this time with no sign of life… I have no illusions that I’ll ever see him again. The best I can do is help carry on the work that he started, and do my part to honor his memory.”

Leaning back on the couch, Jason struggled to compute all of this. He remembered back to something else Celia had told them. “Do you remember Merlin mentioning any threatening phone calls? Or did you hear him taking any at the office?” he asked.

“Oh, all the time,” Janie said. “Lawyers and PR representatives from various companies threatening to sue us into bankruptcy if we don’t stop broadcasting ‘lies’ about them. Of course, we always kept the facts behind our stories thoroughly documented, so their threats usually didn’t get very far.”

“So, he never seemed frightened or uneasy after taking one of these calls?” Jason asked.

This brought a laugh out of her. “Mr. Lovelace, I don’t think I ever saw Merlin frightened in all of the time I knew him,” she said. “If you knew some of the things he did back before he ran the EPG… Merlin had guns put in his face on multiple occasions. Local authorities or mercenary groups trying to scare him away from his protest sites, make him clear out of the way of ‘progress.’ And he never once stood down, even with the threat of arrest, beatings, and even death hanging over him. In all my life, I’ve never met a man with as much courage and willingness to sacrifice anything for his cause as Merlin Waters. And I doubt I ever will again.” She leaned back in her chair. “So, the idea of him being scared because of a simple phone call… that’s not the man I knew.”

Jason tried to come up with any other questions, but Janie’s answers had thrown him for a loop. Either she was an excellent liar… or his client had fed him a big steaming bowl of bullshit. Whatever the case, it was obvious that the two pictures that had been painted so far of Merlin Waters didn’t line up at all.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wright,” he finally said. “One last question: can you think of anyone else who was close to Merlin that we should talk to?”

“Well, there’s Rebecca, of course,” Janie answered, then elaborated. “Rebecca Madigan, the new head of EPG. Think she’s one of the few people besides Celia who still thinks Merlin might be alive. Even kept his old office just the way it was before he disappeared.”

Jason and Dylan glanced at each other. “You think maybe she’ll let us take a look in there?” Dylan asked.

“Probably, although I doubt you’ll find much new,” Janie said. “The police went over the place pretty thoroughly back when he was originally reported missing. But if you let Rebecca know that you’re trying to find out what happened to Merlin, she’ll probably let you inside. Just try not to make too much of a mess.”

“So, Ms. Madigan and Merlin’s old office,” Jason repeated to commit the new leads to memory. “Anybody else come to mind?”

Janie paused to consider, before shaking her head. “For as much as he loved getting out there and speaking to the people, Merlin was actually a very private person,” she said. “The kind of man who had a lot of acquaintances, but fairly few close friends. I count myself lucky to have been one of them, but other than Rebecca… no, nobody comes to mind. Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Jason said, reaching forward to pick up and stop his tape recorder. “You’ve been very gracious, Mrs. Wright. We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“I was happy to help,” Janie responded. “I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but if you do find out something… I know I’m not your client in this matter, but I would appreciate it if you keep me informed.” Something shifted in her face, the untroubled smile slipping just for a second. “It may seem to you as if I’ve moved on, but… even years later, I still feel that void sometimes,” she said, the slightest tremble in her voice. “That empty place in my heart where he used to be.”

“I understand,” Jason responded, thinking about his own void. An almost literal one, still aching after sixteen long years. “I’ll be sure to pass you the word if anything turns up.”

Janie shook his hand, followed by Dylan’s. “Good luck to you both. I hope you’re able to put Merlin’s soul to rest,” she said.

The two of them headed for the front door, not speaking until they were back out on the porch. Once the front door was shut and they were out of earshot, Dylan let out his breath. “Well… shit.”

Jason nodded at his partner. “That pretty much covers it, yeah.”

“So what now, Jace?” Dylan asked. “We go back to Celia and call her on her crap?”

“No, not yet,” Jason responded. “We need to chase down all the leads first. See if what we find at EPT backs up Janie’s version of things. At this point, it’s all her word against Celia’s.”

Dylan rubbed at his bearded face, the two of them heading down the front stairs. “Doesn’t make any sense, though,” he said, walking side-by-side with Jason. “ _Celia_ was the one who told us to talk to Janie. She had to know that we’d be hearing a different story from her as far as Merlin. Why send us here if it was all going to make her look like a liar?”

Jason considered. “Maybe Celia doesn’t know Janie as well as she thought,” he responded. “Or didn’t know her husband.”

“Man, something about all this is starting to reek, Jace,” Dylan said, sounding uneasy. “Beginning to think we should go over and check out the guy’s office, and then call it quits from there. Give Celia a call and tell her that we’re dropping the case before this shit gets any more complicated.”

_“Drop the Waters case.”_

Jason stopped in his tracks, working up his nerve. “Dylan, you were right,” he eventually said, as Dylan paused and turned around. “I should have told you about Gina.”

Dylan blinked. “What? Man, never mind about that. This case is…”

“No, just listen,” Jason interrupted. “You _are_ my partner. And you _are_ my friend. And I shouldn’t keep secrets from you. So I need to tell you that… well, after I left you in Fortuna last night…”

Jason told him the whole story. The shadowy figure on the bridge, and how he seemed to vanish into thin air after delivering his message to drop the matter of Merlin Waters. Once he was done, Dylan’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Dylan muttered after Jason was finished. “This is like something out of one of those cheesy detective movies you make me watch. Mystery dude in a trenchcoat telling us to fuck off from this case, that we’re digging too deep? Messed up, man.” He considered Jason’s story and raised up a finger. “You think it was one of those casters on the bridge? Gave you that big speech and then magic-wanded himself out of there?”

“No,” Jason said. “I would have known if it was a caster.”

“You sure? Because those guys can…”

“It wasn’t a caster,” Jason emphatically repeated.

In his mind, he told himself, “No… not this secret. He may be your best friend… but he doesn’t need to know about that part of your life.”

Pacing around on the sandy walk-up to the Wright house, Dylan scratched nervously at the edge of his scalp. “Hey, listen… it’s up to you, Jace,” he said. “You want to drop this like the guy said, or keep going? I’ll back you up, whichever way you go.”

Jason jammed his hands in his pockets. “We stick with the original plan,” he decided. “Pay a visit to the EPG building, talk to this new director Madigan, and see what we can find in Merlin’s old office. If there’s no leads after that… we tell Celia we’ve done all we can, take the fees for one day of work, and put all of this mess behind us.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dylan said, still looking a bit unsettled by Jason’s tale. “Man, let’s go get some breakfast. I can’t be dealing with this kind of shit on an empty stomach.”

“I’m buying,” Jason agreed, as the two of them resumed walking to the nearby curb.

As they waited for their portal to arrive, a dark thought crossed Jason’s mind. There _was_ another explanation for how that mysterious man could have disappeared the night before. One that sent a cold chill down the back of his spine.

No. _They_ weren’t involved. They couldn’t be. Because if the biters _did_ want them to stop looking into Merlin Waters… then they wouldn’t have stopped with just a warning.

He and Dylan would already be dead.


	9. Trashed

For years after, The Day the Trophy Case Got Destroyed would be a fabled event in Wellspring High School history, passed down from graduating class to new freshmen as a sort of urban legend.

As only a few people were there to see it happen, however, the story mutated a bit over time. Some would tell of a mistreated freshman who had finally had enough of being picked on, and pushed his biggest bully into it in a mindless rage. Others would claim that some crazy stoner jumped through the glass in order to get sent to the hospital, wanting to get out of a final exam he hadn’t studied for. The more extreme versions of the story even escalated up to gang warfare, bullets from a hit attempt on a mob boss’s daughter shattering the case holding all of Wellspring High’s athletic achievements.

Casey Maxwell knew the truth wasn’t quite that dramatic. He had been one of the few who had seen it happen, after all. Despite that, whenever anyone asked what had actually occurred that day, Casey would claim to not remember.

If only. Casey just _wished_ he didn’t remember.

* * *

“Jeez, man, you look wrecked,” Chester remarked as Casey fumbled with the combination on his locker. “Tell me you didn’t stay up all night playing FireFight 3 again.”

“Nah, I…” Casey said, interrupting himself with a long yawn. “I just had trouble sleeping last night. Had a weird dream or something.”

Chester leaned against the row of lockers. “Well, if the dream you had was Dr. Tracksuit retaining the title against LuchaDeer, afraid it didn’t come true,” he said, glaring at the ceiling in disgust. “Can you believe that the booking team put the title on that guy? He may be good in the ring, but the man just cannot work the mic for shit.” He shrugged. “Well, at least they finally put the tag belts on Jeremiah and the Professor of Pain. I mean, those guys are definitely life-long GBW guys, so they should…”

By this point, Chester’s rantings about the previous night’s wrestling PPV faded to a low hum in Casey’s brain. He was trying to remember the weird dream he had had the night before, the one that woken him up early and had left him tired as hell this morning. But by this point, the product of his subconscious mind from hours before was growing more and more hazy.

There was something about the computer in his bedroom, he did remember that much. And a name… Eileen. He didn’t know anyone named Eileen, but he could hear his own voice repeating the name in his head. Who was Eileen, and why had he dreamed about her?

“Well, hopefully they bring on a new booking staff soon, before the guys they’ve got now run the place completely into the ground,” Chester was still going, oblivious to Casey’s complete lack of interest. “Anyway, I should get going to homeroom. See you online tonight, man.” He delivered a soft punch to Casey’s shoulder. “Try not to bail on us like last night, okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Casey said as Chester walked away. It was a few seconds before his fatigue-addled brain finally processed what Chester had said as he had left.

“Bail like last night?” But Casey hadn’t been online last night. He vaguely remembered something in his dream about playing a match with Chester and their usual crew. But that was just in the dream, right?

Struggling to focus, he dug through his locker, grabbing his books for first period in a bleary haze. Letting out another yawn, he leaned with his forearm against the side of his locker, wishing he could fall asleep standing up. Just a few seconds and he’d be fine…

“Are you alright?”

Flinching, Casey turned away from his open locker, and saw the last person he would have expected to be talking to him.

Yvette Black was standing to his side by the row of lockers, arms clutching a bunch of dusty books to her chest as usual. She shifted nervously on her feet, a guarded look on her face as if she expected Casey to begin laughing at her like everyone had yesterday during the incident with Sarah. Despite her obvious trepidation, there seemed to be genuine concern in her eyes as she watched for Casey’s response.

“Oh, hey,” Casey said, smiling at Yvette and trying his best to put the nervous girl at ease. “Uh, I’m just a little tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“That’s too bad,” Yvette said. Balancing her weathered texts in one arm, she reached into her pocket with her free hand. The small container of liquid that she retrieved appeared to be made of glass, like some kind of health potion straight out of an RPG. Even had a cork stopper and everything.

“You should try this,” Yvette said, presenting the vial to Casey in a quivering hand. Inside, a strange yellowish liquid sloshed against the sides. Was Casey just imagining things, or was it glowing?

Taking the glass container gingerly, Casey gave it a dubious look. “Uh, I appreciate it,” he said, swirling around the mysterious fluid inside. “But I don’t know how much I trust this magic stuff.”

Yvette adjusted her glasses, looking mildly offended by Casey’s doubt. “It works,” she insisted. In all the time Casey had been around her, he had never heard Yvette speak like this: a kind of quiet confidence in her tone. She met his gaze with a strange intensity, Casey not used to seeing her light blue eyes focused upward instead of down at her feet. “Just try it.”

If it was anyone else, Casey wouldn’t have drunk any strange liquids they had handed him, not for a million dollars. Too many prank possibilities. But he couldn’t imagine the quiet, nervous Yvette doing that sort of thing. And something about the hopeful way she was staring at him, Casey just didn’t have the heart to turn her down.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, pulling the cork off. He gave the liquid inside an experimental sniff… nothing all that unusual. Smelled a little like apples, actually. There was something weird about the way it moved around inside the glass container, though. A weird fluidity to it that almost made the concoction inside seem like it was pulsing inside of the vial.

“Go ahead,” Yvette said, watching him with wide, eager eyes.

Well, he had come this far. “Here goes,” he said, throwing the vial back and letting the mysterious tincture slither out of the glass tube and into his mouth. The taste was strange… but not unpleasant. As he swallowed it down and felt the warm liquid coat the inside of his throat…

“Whoa!” he heard himself exclaim. His eyes went wide, as the effect was almost immediate once he had swallowed the last of the liquid. All of the fatigue from his lack of sleep the previous night seemed to vanish in a rush of vitality. His previously clouded inner thoughts sharpened into crystal clarity. He didn’t just feel awake… he was invigorated in a way he had never felt before.

Seeing his reaction, Yvette gave him a wide, toothy grin. It was the first time Casey had ever seen the shy, bullied sophomore look anything other than troubled or depressed. He hadn’t really noticed before today, but once you got past the frizzy hair, timid demeanor, and terrible fashion sense… Yvette was actually sort of cute.

“Wow, you were right,” Casey said, handing her back the empty bottle and cork. “This stuff really does work. Thanks, Yvette.”

“I’m… glad it helped,” Yvette said, her cheeks reddening slightly as she averted her eyes from his. “I have to go, so… bye,” she quickly said, turning and rushing off down the hallway before Casey could respond. He caught her glance back at him once, that same giddy smile still on her face, before she turned the corner and vanished.

“Jeez, I might have to get some more of that stuff from her next time I see her,” Casey thought to himself. He looked around the hallway of the school, the normally muted tan walls and grey rows of lockers throbbing with some strange sense of color. Casey thought he could hear something in the distance, like an angelic choir singing some impossibly beautiful melody. If it hadn’t been Yvette that had given him this stuff, Casey would have started to wonder if he had been “doped” with something.

As it was, he was beginning to see why Yvette liked this magic stuff so much.

Catching sight of the clock on the wall, the black circle of numbers swimming around inside of a field of white in his vision, Casey realized there were only ten minutes until he had to be in homeroom. Swiveling rapidly back to his locker, he grabbed for his books and gave the door a forceful slam. Still buzzing a bit, he took off down the hallway, unable to keep the smile off his face with how good he was feeling. It was like his brain was floating on a beam of golden sunshine, that sound of a far-off choir of heavenly beings making him feel like joining in their song.

He turned the corner to the hallway with his homeroom class, and his eyes went wide. On the right wall in front of him was Wellspring High’s pride and joy: their massive trophy case. While he had passed it dozens of times since transferring to Wellspring High School, he had never noticed how… beautiful it was. Despite being under a time pressure, Casey couldn’t resist stopping for a moment to stare through the glass in dazed wonder.

Wellspring High was legendary for its athletics, and it was only fitting that it had a trophy case with the aesthetics to match their achievements. It stretched from floor to ceiling, and took up ten feet of the wall it was resting against. Enclosed within thick panes of glass, and flanked by flagpoles flying the colors of Wellspring’s home country, the display held dozens of red and blue miniature pedestals on its many glass shelves. On top of each of them, little men and women re-enacting various physical activities. Football, basketball… and quite a few depicting men in singlets and headgear, crouching down and ready to begin sweatily groping a similar-dressed opponent. Behind many of the trophies were photos of the beefed-up boys and girls that brought them home for Wellspring High, ranging from old black-and-white stills to more recent digital images.

As he took in the array of awards, Casey heard someone approach from behind him. A hard slap to the back set him off balance, and he found himself falling forward towards the glass front of the giant trophy case. If he hadn’t gotten his hands up in time, he might have found himself hitting the clear barrier face-first.

“Whoa, watch it,” said the voice behind him, and Casey’s good mood immediately went away. He glanced over to see Gavin McClendon move to stand beside him, the beefy wrestler towering six inches above him. “Dreaming about seeing your picture in there?” Gavin asked, before making a mocking laugh. “Well, keep dreaming, shrimp.”

“I was just looking,” Casey muttered quietly. He started walking away, until Gavin clapped a thick hand onto his shoulder, halting him in his tracks and steering him back to face the trophy case.

“Hey, no need to run off. Look all you want, man,” Gavin said, a slimy grin on his face. “There’s some real history in there. Bet a brainy little geek like you could even write a few papers about it. Check that out.” He pointed Casey’s attention to one of the pictures on the back of the case, an older looking picture of several boys in basketball gear. “Right there?” he asked. “That guy right in the front with the long blond hair? That’s my dad. Erich McClendon, top scoring power forward in all of Wellspring High history. Took the team to nationals three out of his four years here.”

Not wanting to make him angry, Casey did his best to look awestruck. “That’s pretty cool,” he told the burly wrestler.

“Damn right,” Gavin said with a grin. “And see those runners in that one?” he pointed to another older picture. “Second from the left, Athena Parker. My mom broke just about every Wellspring High speed record when she was on the track team. And there’s my bro,” he tapped his finger against the glass in front of another picture, this one more recent than the others. “Chase was MVP every year he was on the football team, caught the winning pass in the last seconds to win us the Network Championship two years ago.”

“Wow,” Casey said, trying to decide the best thing to say that would both keep Gavin from potentially kicking his ass, and also get him out of this situation as soon as possible. “Your family is pretty good.” Casey scanned the inside of the case. “Where’s your trophy?” he asked.

He saw Gavin’s eyes narrow, and Casey’s throat tightened. “You making fun of me, you piece of shit?” he said, his mockingly pleasant tone suddenly turning dangerous. Casey felt the hand on his shoulder grip tightly, Casey wincing as he could feel the bruises forming.

“No, I wasn’t,” Casey said, pain evident in his voice. He wasn’t sure what he had said to upset Gavin, not really following high school sports at all.

Gavin scanned Casey’s face for any sign of mockery or deception. Seeing that he was apparently being genuine, Gavin loosened his grip. “Yeah, whatever, geek,” Gavin muttered. “Like you got any right to talk shit. You’d be lucky to be the waterboy for the girls’ soccer team.”

Casey nodded rapidly, ready to agree to whatever Gavin said just to walk away from this encounter with all of his bones intact.

Taking his hand away from Casey’s throbbing shoulder, he tapped the glass on the trophy case, right in front of an empty shelf. “That spot right there? That’s where _my_ trophy’s gonna go.” He said. The bulky junior squared his lantern jaw, blue eyes focused on the empty gap in the trophy case with a determined glare. “No slacking off like last year, no letting those assholes from Braun Harris walk all over us in the tournament like we’re a bunch of little pussies,” he said, the tone of his voice taking a strange turn, sounding almost wounded as he seemed to speak more to himself than Casey. “This time, I’m not gonna…” he paused, inhaled deeply through his nose and breathing out through his mouth. “ _We’re_ not gonna fuck up this time. We’ve definitely got the best team this year, and we won’t lose.”

“Well, good luck,” Casey said, glancing up at the clock and seeing he was dangerously close to being late for homeroom. “Probably should…”

“Luck,” Gavin mockingly repeated. “Don’t need luck. I train, I train for hours every day to be the best,” he said. Looking over at Casey, he sneered. “Something you’d never understand. Man, why am I even wasting my time?” he said. He gave Casey a shove that sent him stumbling to the side, barely keeping his footing by grabbing hold of one of the heavy metal flagpoles standing by the trophy case. “Keep looking in that trophy case all you want, loser,” Gavin taunted. “No way a skinny dork like you will ever see your picture in there.”

As Gavin walked away, Casey didn’t dare move until the muscular bully was through the door of his homeroom class and out of sight. Breathing a sigh of relief once Gavin was gone, Casey quickly hustled into his own homeroom.

Just a few seconds before the bell rang, Casey practically dove into his seat, Ms. Halifax watching him with narrowed eyes as he beat the buzzer. Safely at his desk, he took a breath to try and slow his pounding heartbeat, his tense encounter with Gavin leaving him shaken. Once he had calmed himself down, Casey opened the textbook for his first class of the day, taking the opportunity to go over the reading assignment again.

“Hey, you got it?” he heard a quiet voice to his right, and at first thought someone was talking to him. But as he glanced away from his book, he saw Melanie Trimble faced sideways in her desk, looking over her shoulder at the person behind her, in the desk next to Casey.

“I promised, didn’t I?” whispered Ember Connolly, handing Melanie several pieces of paper stapled together. “There you go. 600 words on the passing of the Wellspring-Network Accommodation Act…” she paused, noticing Casey staring at them and quickly shifting gears, speaking at a normal volume “…is absolutely _not_ what I’m handing you right now, Melanie, and the mere implication that I would write your history paper for you is frankly disgusting.” She shot Casey a look. “Hope these _notes_ I’m giving you are helpful when you finish writing your _own_ paper.”

Melanie stared at Ember, looking profoundly confused. “Notes? But I said I’d cover for you with your parents last night if you wrote my…”

“Tch tch tch tch tch,” Ember clucked her tongue at Melanie, jerking her head in the direction of Casey. “So, yeah, make sure to return those _notes_ that I’m giving you when you’re done with them,” she said, raising her voice just a little as she glanced between Melanie and Casey. “You know, once you finish up that paper of yours that you’re writing _all by yourself_.”

Melanie still looked dumbfounded, but after looking down at the pages Ember had handed her, she nodded in severely delayed understanding. “Oh, right. Yeah, thanks again for the… notes, Ember,” she said, giving her co-conspirator an extremely subtle wink and grin.

As Melanie turned back to face the front of the classroom, Ember cocked her head to the side to look over at Casey. “Think I covered that up pretty well, what do you think?” she said, giving him a sheepish grin.

“No, totally,” Casey said, smiling back at the strange junior. He took a moment to examine her fashion choices for the day: a pair of denim overalls with a pink tube top underneath, along with a straw fedora hat. Strangely mundane for Ember, but he supposed not every day could be Dress Like A Pirate day. “Very subtle. I was completely fooled,” he assured her.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Ember turned in her desk to face Casey, casually leaning her elbow against the back of her desk chair. “Alright, what do I owe you? Need me to get you the answers to Nakamura’s biology mid-term or something?”

Casey shook his head. “Forget it. I’m not a narc, I don’t care if…” Pausing, he gave Ember a skeptical look. “Wait, you could really get those answers?”

“Lazy bastard just uses test questions straight out of the teacher’s handbook,” Ember said with a casual shrug. “Whole thing is posted online, you just need to know what to search for.” She smirked. “Which I do.”

“Wow,” Casey said, but shook his head again. “No, it’s cool. You don’t need to buy me off, I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Ember pointed a finger gun in his direction, giving him a wink. “That’s my guy,” she said. After a moment of pause, she squinted her dark brown eyes at him. “Hey, are you…”

“Did you say you could get the answers for Nakamura’s mid-term?” asked a guy sitting behind Ember.

“Ex- _cuse_ me!” Ember said to the guy, sounding annoyed. “Private conversation going on here, Butty McButterson.” After a pause, she lowered her voice slightly. “Catch me at lunch. We’ll talk pricing.” She directed her attention back to Casey. “So, uh…” she snapped her fingers several times, pointing at Casey and squinting.

“Casey,” he helpfully offered.

“Right, that was it. And I’m Ember. But you already knew that. Course you did. So, weird question… did you play soccer when you were a kid, Casey?”

It _was_ a weird question. “Uh, yeah, just for a year,” he answered. “Wasn’t really my thing, so I quit after that. How did you know that?”

“I dunno, you just have that look, you know,” Ember said. “That ‘played soccer for a year in grade school then stopped’ physique, impossible to miss.”

“Uh huh. You’re not really good at this whole ‘covering lies’ thing, are you, Ember?” Casey remarked.

Ember shook her head, turning back in her desk to face forward. “Forget it, it’s not important. Thought I saw a picture of you somewhere, that’s all. Anyway, thanks again for…”

“Attention,” came a voice over the PA, Principal Myers making an announcement. “We will be having a brief assembly before classes begin. All homeroom monitors, please escort your classrooms to the auditorium immediately.”

A buzz of confused conversation started in the classroom. Casey frowned. “What do you think this is about?” he asked Ember.

“Dunno,” Ember responded. “She sounded weird, though, didn’t she? Kinda… freaked out or something.”

The two of them, along with the rest of the classroom, stood up from their desks. Ms. Halifax directed them row-by-row out of the classroom door, delivering marching orders like she had been trained by the army.

The hallway outside was filled with a confused jumble of voices, as all of the students proceeded in an orderly fashion towards the auditorium. Passing by the elaborate trophy case again, Casey shuddered a little as he remembered his encounter with Gavin. As he moved with the crowd, he could hear a loud conversation behind him.

“Holy shit, that show was fucking amazing,” said a guy Casey didn’t recognize. One of the punks of the school, his hair shaved on the sides and a dark spot on the side of his nose where the piercing would have been if the school dress code didn’t forbid any “jewelry that could distract from the teaching process.”

“Mass Fear have still fucking got it,” the guy gushed. “Mark’s voice was still on point, and Vic and Jimmy can still shred like back when they started. And that new song, ‘Network Slaves?’ Better than anything on that last album.”

“Yeah, and the fight they had in the alley afterward was pretty fucking badass, too,” said a purple-haired girl in a brand-new Mass Fear t-shirt, obviously obtained the previous night. “Jimmy _totally_ kicked Mark’s ass. Sucks they’re probably never going to play together again, but still… cool while it lasted, you know?”

The two of them looked over, and Casey followed their stare to see Rayne McDowell walking beside them. “Yeah, great show,” she mumbled, her tone not matching the enthusiasm of her peers. “Can’t fucking believe Annie didn’t show up.” She looked at the two fellow punks with an indignant glare. “Tried to call her last night and she hung up on me, can you believe that shit? Hasn’t responded to any of my texts today either. She better have a damn good excuse.”

“Shit, Annie wasn’t in homeroom this morning either,” said the male punk. “You think she’s sick or something?”

“Sick?” Rayne scoffed, as she pulled out her phone out of her plaid pocketed skirt. “To miss the best show ever last night, and then ghost me like this? That bitch better be fucking dead,” she said, glancing down at the screen and frowning at what she saw. “Dammit, Annie, where the fuck are you?” she muttered to herself, starting to sound a little concerned as she shoved the phone angrily back in her pocket.

Turning away from the conversation, Casey saw Ember walking next to him. The expression on her face was odd, like she’d seen a ghost. “You all right?” he asked.

Ember glanced furtively over her shoulder at Rayne. “Yeah… yeah, I’m all good,” she said. “Just… bummed I apparently missed out on the best punk show ever last night.” She forced a smile. “You know how much I love that hardcore shit.”

They stepped through the double doors into the main auditorium. Casey had only been in here a few times since he had started at this school. It was mostly used by the drama club for their monthly plays, and that was definitely not Casey’s scene. Other than that, it didn’t see much use except for major announcements, ones too big to be read over the PA system during morning homeroom. The room was fairly sizable, obviously designed to hold the entire student body of the high school, and rows upon rows of foldout theater chairs faced the dimly lit stage at the front.

Casey scanned the crowd, looking for where Chester was sitting so he could join him. But remembering their conversation at his locker earlier, he decided he wasn’t in the mood for even more complaining about how GBW was getting booked. Better to let Chester complain to somebody else about who should be holding the straps at his favorite wrestling promotion. Casey decided to grab a seat in the back, sitting down to watch as the rest of the student body filed into the rows.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?” he heard someone ask. Looking over, he saw Elle Friedman pointing at an empty seat a few rows in front of him.

“Sorry,” said the guy, one of Gavin’s teammates on the wrestling team, shaking his head. “It’s taken.”

Elle nodded. “Alright, thanks,” she said with a smile. As she walked in Casey’s direction, Casey saw the seat denier lean over to whisper something to the person sitting next to him, the two of them sharing a low laugh.

“Hey… Casey, right?” Elle said, pointing to the empty seat next to him. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“No, go ahead,” he said. The slim redhead settled in next to him, while Casey tried his best to be subtle as he studied her. He had still never found out about all the weird whispering he had heard about this girl, but she seemed nice enough. Whatever it was, Casey didn’t suppose it mattered much. He wasn’t going to be a dick to her.

“Pretty weird, right?” Elle asked him. “There wasn’t anything on the schedule for today like this.” She shot a glance at the ceiling, sounding frustrated. “Can’t believe I spent all night studying for that first period science exam, and now it’s probably going to be postponed.”

“Really? That sucks,” Casey said, pulling out his phone and checking the time. “Yeah, only a few minutes until the bell’s supposed to ring.” Unlike Elle, Casey welcomed the shift in the school schedule. Better to sit through a boring assembly than have to do readings from old, 200-year-old plays in Ms. Katz’s literature class.

Glancing over, Elle caught a glimpse of Casey’s phone screen. “Oh, _Koala Café,_ ” she said with a smile, pointing at the colorfully drawn image he had set as his wallpaper. “I love that show.”

“Wow, so _you’re_ the other one,” Casey joked. “I was beginning to think I was the only one who didn’t think it was boring and lame.”

Elle shook her head. “Nah, it’s great. Just… different. I know a lot of people think the animation style is too basic, or that it’s slow and has too much talking. But I think it’s got a lot of heart. And I love the main girl character. I’ve been thinking about…”

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” Principal Myers spoke into the podium microphone placed at the center of the stage, drawing Casey’s attention away from his conversation with Elle. “I need you all to be quiet so we can get started.”

“Hey, who’s that?” Elle asked, pointing at the dark-haired woman in the professional grey suit standing next to Myers. “Some sort of school official or something?”

Casey followed her finger, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw who was standing next to their principal.

What the hell was _she_ doing here? And if she was the reason they had called this assembly… what was she about to tell them?

As Myers tried to settle down the anxious teens, Casey spotted movement in the aisle. Ember coming with a head of steam, charging towards the back of the auditorium and the doors they had all just come through. Coach Henries, sitting in the row across the aisle from Elle and Casey, got up to his feet and blocked her path.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Henries asked in that dire, deep-voiced tone of his. The same one he used in gym class when he suspected any of the students of slacking off in their exercises.

“I just realized, I forgot my phone back in the classroom,” Ember said, dancing a little from foot to foot as she eyed the exit behind Henries’s bulky form.

“It can wait until after the announcement is over,” Henries told her, crossing his arms over his beefy chest. “Have a seat, Ms. Connolly.”

“But my dad might call, Mr. Henries,” Ember protested. “My mom, it’s…” Seeing the coach’s uncaring expression, she sighed. “Fine, whatever. If she dies while I’m in here, have fun having _that_ on your conscience for the rest of your life.”

Casey watched as Ember took an empty seat, the one that had previously been “claimed” when Elle has asked for it. Fidgeting nervously, she pulled her hat down over her eyes, slouching down in her seat and trying to look as small as possible.

“Wonder what that was all about,” Elle mused to Casey, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Before he could consider it further, the principal moved aside from the microphone, allowing her guest to take her spot and begin speaking.

“Hello, students. I’m Detective Marielle Maxwell, and I’m with the Network Police Authority.”

From the back of the room, a few hisses. Someone yelled out “Fuck off, pig!” to the loud laughs of his friends.

Myers leaned in to sternly speak into the microphone. “Hey, anyone else makes a sound, they’re getting put on a two-week suspension. I’m not joking,” she warned.

“Hey, isn’t your last name Maxwell?” Elle observed to Casey as Principal Myers quieted the room. “Funny coincidence, huh,” she said.

“No,” Casey said with a sigh. “No, it’s not.”

Up on stage, Myers moved away from the microphone, allowing Marielle to stand alone again. Marielle waited for the bored crowd of teens to quiet down before continuing. “Thank you for listening. I’m afraid that there’s no easy way to tell you all this, but I regret to inform you that…” she paused dramatically. “That your classmate Annie Longman… passed away last night.”

The reaction was immediate. Several audible gasps and shocked cries of “what?” could be heard over the general buzz of conversation at this unexpected news. Casey caught sight of Ember, previously slumping in her seat, sitting up straight with wide, horrified eyes.

“Oh, no,” Casey heard Elle say beside him. Looking over, he saw her raise her hands up to her mouth. He was surprised to see her eyes start to glisten, a tear trickling down her cheek. Did she and Annie even know each other that well?

As Marielle waited for the shock to die down before continuing to speak, Casey struggled to compute what he had just heard. It didn’t seem real. He remembered seeing Annie just yesterday in class. She and Rayne had been…

Jeez, Rayne. He could only imagine how she was taking this news. Casey scanned the crowded auditorium, trying to see if he could spot Annie’s best friend. But she must have been on the other side of the room somewhere, out of his line of sight.

It was so bizarre. He had barely known Annie himself, but the thought of someone he knew even a little bit just being… gone, just like that, left him feeling numb.

He hadn’t really experienced much death in his life up to this point. His grandmother on his dad’s side had died before he was born, and his dad’s father… well, they didn’t talk about him much. And his mom’s family were all still alive, so he hadn’t had to attend any funerals up to this point in his life.

Seeing Elle start to sniffle and sob over their deceased classmate, Casey was surprised to feel himself start to get a little teary-eyed himself. He did his best to hold back his emotions, biting his lip and staring down at the floor.

Part of him wondered if he should comfort Elle somehow, maybe give her a hug. But he just didn’t have the nerve to do something like that, especially with a cute girl like her.

“My condolences to all of you,” Marielle said once the crowd noise had receded. “It can be very difficult to lose a friend, especially at such a… a…”

Marielle suddenly trailed off, her eyes focused on something in Casey’s general direction. At first, he thought that she had spotted and recognized him, and almost raised his hand to wave. But as Ember tried to hide her face again, almost laying down in her seat from how far down she was slouching, Casey was almost positive that Marielle was staring right in her direction.

“…a young age.” Marielle finally regained her train of thought. “Now, I know this is hard to hear as it is, but the reason I’m speaking to you today is that Ms. Longman appeared to have taken some illegal narcotics shortly before her death.” Another, smaller buzz went through the crowd. “We believe that this might have played a factor in her passing, and I wanted to come here today to stress the dangers of drugs to you all.”

As Marielle continued, her speech became more and more rote and disinterested. All while she spoke, she continued shooting glances in the general direction of Ember. “I know some of you might think that drugs are ‘cool’ or ‘badass,’ but I’m here to tell you that they’re totally ‘whack.’ And if any of you are aware of someone at your school using drugs, or selling them, it’s important that you report this information as soon as possible. Your friend Annie might have had her life cut tragically short due to her terrible addictions. But with your help, we can prevent her mistakes from costing anyone else their future. I’ll be here today for the next few hours, if you want to report any…”

There was a commotion at the front of the auditorium, somebody jumping up and forcing their way out of the row they were sitting in, stepping on several feet in the process from the pained sounds Casey could hear. As the person stepped out into the aisle, Casey saw who it was. Rayne McDowell’s face was twisted in a miserable mask of agony, as she charged up the aisle towards the back of the auditorium.

Coach Henries tried to get up to block her, but Rayne dashed past him before he could get in her way. With a rough shove, she slammed open the double doors and charged out into the hallway.

“Ms. McDowell! You come back here right now, or it’s detention for the next two weeks!” the coach called after her. Shaking his head, he made to follow her out into the hallway, while Marielle continued her anti-drug speech up on stage.

“Coach, she’s upset,” Elle protested, standing up in her seat and keeping her voice low to avoid interrupting the speech happening up front. “She just found out that her best friend died. She needs someone to talk to right now, not yell at her.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Please, let me go check on her.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Ember suddenly chimed in, jumping up out of her seat and interjecting herself into the conversation. “She needs people to be there for her. Me and Elle and…” she grabbed Casey by the hand, yanking him out of his seat. “And Casey here. We’re all her friends. We can go talk to her together.” She glared over at Casey. “Right, buddy?”

“Uh,” Casey saw the desperately insistent glare that Ember was giving him and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll talk to her, Coach Henries,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was getting dragged into this, but seeing the dual stares he was getting from Ember and Elle he decided it would be pretty shitty of him not to join them in comforting the distraught Rayne.

Henries waved at the door. “Fine, just don’t take too long,” he said. Casey heard him mutter under his breath as he turned back to his seat, “Probably off getting high like her dead friend.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Ember said, flashing one more glance back at Marielle on the stage before quickly pushing through the auditorium doors. Both of them feeling confused at Ember’s sudden enthusiasm, Casey and Elle followed her nonetheles.

Out in the hallway, Ember let out a held breath, raising up her hat to wipe at the sweat on her brow. “Finally out of there, thank fuck,” she muttered. She pointed a finger at Elle. “Hey, good call on the ‘go talk to the dead girl’s friend’ idea. Wish I had thought of that.”

“Well, she’s obviously pretty torn up,” Elle said. She glanced around the hallway, which extended in both directions and branched several times. “Which way do you think she went?”

Ember gave Elle a bemused smile. “Oh, wait, you wanted to _actually_ go talk to her?”

“Yes, of course,” Elle immediately said, staring at Ember in disbelief. “That’s why we came out here, isn’t it?”

Ember shrugged. “Maybe that’s why _you_ came out here. I just wanted an excuse to get out of that sweaty auditorium. People at this school really need to learn about the wonders of deodorant, I swear.”

Elle made a disgusted sound, before turning to Casey for support. “ _You’re_ coming with me to find Rayne, aren’t you?” she asked, giving Ember a dirty look.

“Sure, yeah,” Casey said. “Probably should make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or anything.”

Crossing her arms, Ember gave them both a supremely annoyed expression. “Okay, fine,” she said. “Let’s go be compassionate little grief buddies to some girl that none of us ever talk to. Bet she’s off cutting herself or piercing herself. Whatever those punk kids do when the Man gets them down.”

“Should we split up, you think?” Casey asked the two girls.

“No, let’s stick together,” Elle said. “Better we all talk to her at once, show her that she’s got a lot of people who are there to support her,” she looked at Ember and added. “Some of us more than others.”

Casey nodded. “We should check the restrooms first. If she wanted someplace private, that’s probably where she would go.”

“Sounds good,” Elle said, pointing down the hallway to the left. “We’ll check the bigger ones first, over by the trophy case.”

She and Casey started off, Ember following reluctantly behind.

“Hey, buddy,” Ember said to Casey after they had gone a few steps. “Wanted to ask you something while I’ve got you out here. That cop in there, Detective Maxwell… she’s your…” she paused, staring at Casey expectantly.

“My aunt,” Casey said. “Haven’t seen her in a while, though. Was pretty surprising to see her up on stage like that.”

“You’re fucking telling me.”

“What?” Casey asked, having barely heard what Ember said under her breath.

“Forget it. Just… do you talk to her that much? Like, online or anything?”

Casey smirked. “Nah, Aunt Marielle isn’t much of an online person.”

“How about on the phone?” Ember continued her questioning. “Do you ever talk to her about school? And, like, the people you’re in classes with?”

Casey was about to ask Ember why she was so interested in his cop aunt, and why he could have sworn that Marielle had been staring at her from the stage. But before he could start the question, he and his two companions jumped in surprise, at a loud noise in the direction they were walking.

“Oh, no!” Elle exclaimed. “What was that?”

Casey had a pretty good idea. The sound had been unmistakable: the discordant crash of breaking glass.

“Come on, someone could be hurt,” Elle said, taking off running in the direction of the sound. Ember and Casey exchanged a glance, before rushing off behind her. As they rounded the corner, Casey’s suspicions were confirmed.

The first thing he saw was the remnants of the trophy case. The front of it had been completely destroyed, shattered glass littering the ground. Scattered amongst the clear shards were the dozens of trophies and photos that had once rested on the glass shelves inside. Quite a few of the awards had broken apart from hitting the floor, the tiny little athletes separated from their lofty pedestals by the force of the trophy case’s destruction.

Standing in front of the ruined display, one of the heavy flagpoles that had formerly rested at the side of the trophy case clasped in her hands, was Rayne. She was breathing in ragged gasps, the slim girl looking winded from the exertion she had put into slamming the base of the flagpole through the large pane of glass and down against the shelves inside.

Before Casey and his companions could make their presence known, Rayne threw her head back, opened her mouth wide, and screamed.

It was, without question, one of the worst things Casey had ever heard in his life. The animal cry of grief that Rayne made was something primal, ejected from her at the top of her lungs without restraint. It went on for so long, so much misery and anger at the world vented out in one savage wail, that Casey feared it would never stop. By the time Rayne had exhausted all of the air in her lungs, her anguished shriek trailed off into a raspy sob.

Tossing the dented flagpole to the floor, several light cuts on her forearms from where shards of broken glass had grazed against her flesh, Rayne tried to cry out again. But at that point, all her tortured vocal cords could summon was a hoarse croak. She stared down at the floor, her shoulders shaking as the tears came.

“Rayne, we’re here for you,” Elle said, taking a step in the direction of their distraught classmate. Broken glass crunched under the heel of her sneaker. “We’re all so sorry about Annie. Just come over here and talk to us, okay?”

At the quiet sound of Elle’s voice, Rayne’s head shot up in a startled jerk. Her face was red and puffy, and her running eyeshadow drew black trails down her cheeks. She stared down the hallway at the three of them for a second, and then took off running in the other direction. Reaching the end of the hallway, she shoved open one of the school’s exterior doors with a pained grunt and bolted outside.

Behind them, Casey could hear multiple sets of footsteps, no doubt someone having heard the loud sound of the trophy case’s destruction. Ember looked over her shoulder at whoever was approaching, and gritted her teeth. “Ugh, just remembered somewhere I gotta be, you guys,” she said. “Catch you later.”

Before Casey or Elle could protest, Ember made her way in the same direction as Rayne, carefully stepping through the shattered glass and broken trophies to the door at the end of the hallway. Within seconds, she was through the door and out of sight.

Casey and Elle gave nervous glances to each other, before both of them turned to see Marielle, along with Principal Myers and several teachers, rushing in their direction.

“Oh, my God,” Myers exclaimed, seeing the shattered remnants of Wellspring High’s sports achievements scattered across the floor. “What happened here?” She looked between the two students. “Casey… Elle? Did you see who did this?”

“It was…” Casey started to say.

“It was like this when we got here, Principal Myers,” Elle interrupted. “We heard it breaking, and we found it like this.” Her green eyes turned to Casey, expression deadly serious. “Right, Casey?”

Casey nodded in agreement. In his mind, he heard Rayne’s grief-stricken wail. Even now, with it fresh in his mind, he knew he would be hearing it many more times over the course of his life. “We didn’t see what happened,” he said.

Henries stared in seething fury at the remains of the case, his face turning beet red at the broken ruins of his many coaching triumphs. “It was that punk freak’s friend, wasn’t it?” he whirled on Casey, fists balled up and quivering. “She did this, that drugged-out little bi…” he cut himself off, realizing the company he was in. “You saw her do it, didn’t you, Maxwell?”

Casey shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t see who did it, I swear.”

Henries glared at him and Elle, his breathing ragged and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You two covering for her? If I find out you’re lying to me…”

“Allow me,” Marielle stepped around Henries, resting a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to the boy, get the real story out of him.” She turned to the principal, obviously seeking someone in a more rational state of mind to talk to. “Is there somewhere private I can conduct the interrogation?”

Myers pointed down the hall. “Room 118, my office. You can use it as long as you need to.” She turned back to survey the field of broken glass scattered across the hallway. “I’m cancelling classes for the rest of the day,” she announced to the group of faculty members. “I know it’s going to throw everyone’s schedules out of whack, but I don’t think anybody’s going to be able to learn in this environment. Go back and tell the students to go home. We’ll give them some time to process things.”

The faculty disassembled, aside from Henries. The coach crouched down and surveyed the shattered pieces of his various triumphs, looking like a shell-shocked soldier starting at a field full of his dead comrades.

Marielle led Casey away from the carnage, directing him by the shoulder down the hall to the principal’s office. Casey had always dreaded having to spend any time in this room. He never would have imagined it would be in circumstances like these.

Once they were in the office and the door was shut, Marielle sat on the edge of Myers’s desk, pointing Casey over to one of the chairs on the far side of the room.

“I really didn’t see it, Aunt Marielle,” Casey started to say once he sat down. “I…”

“Chill, buddy,” Marielle said, dropping her official cop demeanor and giving him a casual smile. “You think I give a damn about a bunch of cheap trophies? We’ll just hang in here for a few minutes and chat, and I’ll tell Roid Rage out there that your story checks out.” She cocked an eyebrow. “So, you and that redhead? The two of you dating or something?”

Surprised at the turn in the conversation, it took Casey a second to compute the question. “No, we’re not… no. I’ve just talked to her a few times, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, she’s not bad. You should go for it,” Marielle said, before turning suddenly defensive. “Not that I would think that way about somebody that age. I would never…” she paused, shaking her head to cut herself off. “Anyway… how’s it going, Case? Been a while since I’ve seen you. Did you know the girl, the one who died?”

“Not really. She was in some of my classes, but we didn’t really talk.”

Marielle shrugged. “Still, sorry you had to find out like this. Sucks when life hands you a shitty surprise like that.” She paused, struggling to come up with what to say next.

It hadn’t always been this way between them. Casey remembered seeing his aunt a lot more back when he was in grade school. She seemed different when he was a kid, livelier and happier. Always smiling and joking, she was much more fun to be around in those days.

Or maybe his memory just painted it that way, made her seem different from the tired older woman with the bags under her eyes that was sitting in front of him at the moment.

“How’s things with Jenna’s folks?” Marielle finally asked. “Your grandparents treating you alright?”

Casey stared at the floor. “They’re okay, I guess. Pretty boring, actually,” he said. “I wish I could have gone with my parents.”

“Hey, it sucks, I get it,” Marielle said. “But you know how all this crap with the Network works. They’re strict as hell about who gets to leave, and I guess my bro wasn’t able to get a permit for you to come along with him and Jenna. But I’m sure he tried as hard as he could.”

“Wish they had tried harder,” Casey muttered. “I hate this place. You sure I can’t come live with you in Valley Green instead, Aunt Marielle? I could go back to my old school then.”

She visibly winced. “Not that I wouldn’t love to have you, Case, but I really don’t think that would be a good idea,” Marielle said. “My place right now is pretty small… ‘fraid I wouldn’t have room for somebody else to live there.”

Shrugging, Casey said nothing in response. He still remembered the day his dad and mom had told him they’d be leaving the Network without him. “There’s a lot of important work to do out there, Casey. And your mom and I wish you could come with us,” Dad had said. “But it’s better for you if you stay with your grandparents for now. But we promise… as soon as possible, you’ll see us again.”

That had been months ago. And other than a picture or two in emails they had sent him, Casey hadn’t seen his parents again since that day.

“Well, nice catching up with you, buddy,” Marielle awkwardly said. “Uh, before you go, though, wanted to ask you something. You wouldn’t happen to know a girl that goes here named Ember? Dark hair, likes wearing hats?”

Casey gave her a confused look. “Ember Connolly?” he asked. “Yeah, she’s a year above me.”

“So she _does_ go here,” Marielle said, more to herself than Casey. “I thought maybe she was an underco… no, that’s stupid.”

“Is she in some kind of trouble or something?” Casey asked his aunt. “When we were out in the hall, Ember was asking me about you, too.”

Marielle’s face lit up. “She asked about me? Really?” she quickly asked, tone eager. Before Casey could respond, she suddenly looked disgusted. “Forget it. No, she’s not in trouble. I just… thought I recognized her from somewhere.” Sliding off the desk, Marielle waved at the door. “You can go, buddy. I’ll give you a call sometime, I promise.”

“Okay,” Casey said, getting up and walking out of the office. As he went back to his homeroom to grab his books, he went over all the strange events of the day in his mind. What exactly had happened to Annie? What was the deal with his aunt and Ember Connolly? And there was that potion or whatever it was that Yvette had given him. And he still hadn’t found out why everybody acted weird around Elle.

But overwhelming all of his other thoughts, Casey kept hearing her. Over and over again, Rayne crying out in utter, miserable grief.


End file.
